


Rhythm Of Our Bodies, Movement Of Our Souls

by orchids_bloom



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: A little bit of Drama, Affectionate Fluff, Anger Management, Angst, Attempted Rape, Attempted Sexual Assault, Best read first and determine on your own, Bisexuality, Blood play?, Body Exploration, Body Image, Body Worship, Caretaking, Character Development, Cuddling, Dark Loki, Edging (a bit), Emotional Hurt, Emotional Support, European vibes, F/M, Facing Fears, Filthy thoughts, Fluff, Foreign Languages, Graphic Descriptions of Torture, Graphic Violence, Half dark Loki, Humiliation, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, I am still not sure if we consider it as such, Intense, Living Together, Loki after Ragnarok, Loki and everyday life, Loki is being a gentleman, Loki is being a sweetheart, Loki is in love, Loki is playful, Loki's sexy black suit, Magic, Magic/Seidr, Male Prostitutes, Masturbation, Mental Torture, Mild Sexual Content, Mind Games, Multi, Newfound confidence, Nipple Licking, Nudity, OC has issues, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overcoming insecurities, Past Child Abuse, Peer Pressure, Periods, Physical Torture, Pleasuring your partner, Pole Dancing, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Sexual Acts, Resolving taboos, Rough Kissing, Runes, Scottish Accents, Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Sensual Play, Sensual talk, Sex Clubs, Sex Dreams, Sex Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Sexual inuendos, Sexy Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slut Shaming, Stopping medication, Strong Language, Sweetness, Sweetness and Gentility, Teasing, Thigh Slapping, Things are heating up, Tickling, Traumatic Memory, Triggers, Unlabeled relationship, a it of goofiness, aaaghhh, accidental injury, alcohol consumption, all the fluffy feels, bed fights, binding spells, blow job fantasy, brief exhibits of mental illness, brotherly quarrels, building confidence, character guest appearances, chronic nightmare condition, darling names, embarrasement, emotional kissing, first hints of dominance, first kiss experience, first orgasms, forced stripping, frost giant markings revelation, gentle lovers, half light Loki, hot steamy baths, hurt/healing, illegal job, illegal recording of sexual activity, injuries, intimacy to a whole new level, making apologies, mentions of forced lap dancing, mentions of international criminal activity, mentions of past sexual harassment, mentions of sexual punishment, mentions of threesome, mild PTSD, mild mental manipulation, mild version though, nipple sucking, no labels, non consensual prostitution, nude lap dancing, nudity/public nudity, oh la la, pansexuality, party goes wild, past revelations, private dancing, private pole dancing, pussy licking, romantic coffee shops, sensory issues, sensual massage, sensual shower, sexual acts, sexy talk, shower fantasy, shower stalking, showering together, shyness is sexy, silent admission of love, slow seduction, so many sexual innuendos it's not even funny anymore, songs/musical tastes, stolen kisses in public restrooms, stripper OC, tactile issues, threats upon a person's life, tony stark is a little bit of a dick, truth comes out, underage hiring, use of medication, use of narcotics, violent episodes, washing each other, weird sexual dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:18:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 344,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchids_bloom/pseuds/orchids_bloom
Summary: Andrea, a nineteen year old University student, is currently residing in a magnificent city, full of history and wonders, but is, as all students are, so done with everyone and everything. Every day that goes by she struggles to maintain both her love for her chosen course and a general face of sanity, while unfortunately dragging her past into her future, more often than not. The things she has to do in order to survive all alone in a foreign city, would put the fear of God in most girls' hearts. Until she meets him. An entity fleshed out from the pages of Mythology. A man with a ledger as red as blood and a reputation that precedes him. A God of illusions, lies, tricks and mischief, currently in retirement.Loki Laufeyson has lost everything and has decided to distance himself from his brother and the Avengers. With Asgard gone, his kingship to ruins and a crushed spirit, he has become a shadow of himself, wandering aimlessly through the streets of a medieval city, drinking, fucking and wasting his existence away, all in the service of numbing the feelings of pain and loss. Until he meets her. A creature which he cannot believe is of Earth. A woman, a lover, a dancer, a student and his potential cure.





	1. the first dance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!!! So, this is my first work, my first attempt at writing a piece of fanfiction, which I hope with all my heart and soul that you will enjoy, for I certainly enjoyed and still enjoy writing it. Writing something like this has been on my mind for quite a while but I only now got around to actually sitting my arse down to plan and write it. And trust me, if you like literature and written expression as much as I do, the experience so far has been cathartic as I suppose is for most fanfiction writers. Without further due, let us move on to some notes that will help you understand the concept I have in my mind and will inform you of my intentions for this story:  
> 1) this is a story taking place after Thor Ragrnarok. Thor, Loki, Bruce Banner, Valkyrie and the remaining Asgardian folk have landed on Earth in that gigantic spaceship we all saw in the movie. Two years have passed since that event, in my story, and we see that Thor and Loki have separated. In my mind, Thor is working with the Avengers under the umbrella of Avenger's Initiative, while Loki has found permanent residence in the city of Edinburgh. Don't ask me why I chose Edinburgh in particular. Up to this day I still don't know. I have also decided to skip whatever will happen in the Infinity War movie, because it fucking stresses me out. For me, Thanos has already been defeated by the Avengers and all is well now. My Original Female Character, Andrea, is a student at the University of Edinburgh, studying English Literature. You will get to know her better as the story develops. You will get information about her both from her perspective and Loki's and I do hope you will grow to like her. I would also like to ensure you that any opinions she expresses are hers, and hers alone. She is a character that was born out of my imagination.   
> 2) I am extremely aware that in this fandom, we all go after the smut. No need to hide behind our finger, we all know how much we get off from it, myself included. To be honest with you, plain smut one shots was my initial plan when I decided to sit down and write. But I changed my mind. I wanted a story, a story with character development, thrilling plot and arch. It is a decision that challenges me every day, when I write on my computer but I do not regret it at all. In conclusion, what I mean to say is that the smut part of the story will come later, yet, that doesn't mean that you don't get some treats and surprises in the process.   
> 3)I have mentioned this in my bio, but I' ll just give you a quick reminder here. I am not a native English speaker, to my great displeasure. So, firstly I would like to apologize in advance for any mistakes in grammar or syntax. Please, please, please, if you spot anything, write to me in the comments and inform me. Your corrections, as long as they are phrased in a kind way, are more than appreciated. Secondly, this fic will contain phrases from other languages as well. For instance, my native language, Greek and some Italian. I will always write it in a way that the phrase is self explanatory or if something is more complex I will have the translation here in the notes.  
> 4) Since this is my first attempt at writing something so big and so complex, sometimes I' ll throw in links to pictures of things I am trying to describe, such as faces or rooms to give you an idea of what I had in my mind when I wrote this and that. I will be doing this mainly because I do not trust myself with descriptions and because I want to make sure that the readers, you, will certainly form images in your minds.   
> 5) I will post one chapter a week, every Thursday. That is how I have planned it.   
> 6) If you have already checked the tags in this story, please note that I did not put them in the order they appear on my story. I just put everything that came in my mind in the spur of the moment making a complete mess of the tag section. However everything I've mentioned, you will find in the story, now or later. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience in reading all the above and thank you in advance to everyone who decided to press click on this work and take the time to read it. I love you all, even if I don't know you! Have fun!!!
> 
> *Je suis prête = I am ready (French)

-TWO YEARS AFTER RAGNAROK-

 

07:30 in the morning

 

Her alarm went off and she jumped up as if waking up from a bad dream. She quickly turned it off, because the sound was beyond annoying and that is why it served its purpose of waking her up so well. She took a look around, trying to make her brain function properly before getting up. She noticed that most of her covers were positioned haphazardly on top of her bed and they barely covered her legs. She must have been twisting and turning in her sleep again. Fortunately her night stand, which was in fact a huge pile of heavy books was in place. Sometimes the dreams she had would make her violent and that usually meant scattered books and dismembered phone in the morning. She gazed out the window, which was precisely next to her bed. The curtains were pulled shut except for a tiny bit in the middle allowing her small apartment to be filled with a single ray of that grey light which mornings in Edinburgh consisted of, as she had come to realise. The possibility of rain during the day was never a surprise. Not any more. She was in Edinburgh for three months now and it had been raining every single day.

The first week, she had taken it as an omen that things would not run smooth for her here and that she was soon going to fail her university course and that she would be forced to go back to her horrible country, where chances and opportunities were limited. That sickening pessimism was what got her on her feet every day and what put her to sleep every night.

The wooden floor underneath her was cold, but it too served the purpose of waking her up. She walked slowly towards the tiny bathroom all the while trying to accept what would happen tonight. Her shift was due to start at 00:00 o'clock sharp and she was almost too aware of it. She felt nauseous and it was merely 07:35 in the morning.

After splashing some water in her face and brushing her teeth she felt more alive. Her true resurrection though took place when she stepped into the shower. The water was her healer, she had decided. Hot water descending on her shoulders and back was a true remedy for any occasion. Drying herself was a drag but she didn't mind it all that much. She always took her time with her body. Applying scented creams and oils that smoothed her skin into perfection. And by perfection she meant making body acne disappear for a while. She couldn't believe that she was still suffering from that. Her face had eased up a year ago when she had gotten into birth control pills yet her body insisted on producing these little red dots on her chest and legs. She covered her nakedness quickly out of fear that her mind would dwell on insecurities longer than it should. With her hair in a bun and the slightest amount of make up she sat down in front of her laptop and for a moment she tried to find ways to avoid this stupid essay. But there was no escape.

She took a sip from her orange juice and took down some notes with the pencil she had tucked behind her ear. The essay was about one of Shakespeare's plays, one that she did not like in particular due to it being a comedy. It was called “The Merry Wives Of Windsor” and in her opinion it was boring and not as funny as her teacher thought it was. But then again she could not translate half of the insults stated in the text, so perhaps, once she did that, she would laugh too. She started writing down things she knew about the play, like when it was written, the character, the meaning of the title and generally stuff that could orient her somehow and help her type the damn assignment. She was shy of finishing with the summation of all the things she wanted to include. The typing would soon start and her boredom would increase. Why couldn't she be writing about Hamlet or Macbeth? About characters that she could understand.

 

 

13:03, midday

 

The first thing he heard was the loud and pitched voice of his housekeeper, telling him that he ought to wake up because it was late and because she had made breakfast for him that was now cold. He made to open his eyes but as soon as he did they got scorched by the blinding light coming from the window. It was not probably that blinding, considering that this was Edinburgh, but it was still painful to his sore eyes.

“Fuck...”, he murmured somewhat sleepily. “Mrs Granzioni please close the curtains”. He heard footsteps and then the light blinded him even more.

“Get up”, his housekeeper commanded.

“Odin's beard woman, what did you not understand? Close the curtains, now!”, he meant it to sound as an order but all he got was a pathetic mewling.

“I' m sorry young man, I will not do that. Get up and get something in that stomach or yours. I' m sure it's only filled with booze”.

“What did you just call me? Who do you think you are? Your prince is very displeased...”, he knew he wanted to add something more but right now he could not remember. He settled with dragging a pillow to his face to conceal him from the light.

“I'm a worried housekeeper. Now get up. The eggs have already gone cold”, and with that statement followed by decisive footsteps on the wooden floor, he decided that he could not win the fight against Mrs Granzioni.

“Fine...”, he got up, fully naked, and scratched the back of his head trying to remember where he had put his clothes from the night before. When he made to pick up a black shirt the high pitched voice shouted, “ Shower first. With all due respect, you stink”. He chuckled at the woman's command. It reminded him so much of his mother. With her though he would have gotten away without doing as he was told. He knew the ways to woe her and make her lenient. But with Mrs Granzioni, things were different. She would slap him before he could get the chance to speak. As he walked dutifully to the bathroom he wished he had met her back when he was trying to conquer Earth. What an excellent General she would have made.

He paused for a minute or two allowing the hot water to hit his face and chest. _That is where all the weight resides_ , he thought to himself. That is where he felt the heaviness of the world. The water helped him though. Sometimes its hotness would melt away his burdens and make him lighter. Some other times it would burn his skin and remind him of his true colour. And some other times, he would let his thoughts out of their cage to run down the drain accompanied by the water. That is what he did now. In his mind he was taken back to Asgard, in the bathhouses which he used to visit with his brother when they were adolescents in hopes of catching the sight of a naked woman. These thoughts warmed him, but then they were drowned by the water and the heaviness returned tenfold.

He got dressed casually since he wasn't going to leave the penthouse anytime soon and went to the kitchen where his cold breakfast awaited him. As soon as he had finished eating he saw Mrs Granzioni putting on her coat and taking her bag in her hand. Wicked as he was in the mornings, he decided to lift both of their spirits up.

“What? Are you not going to braid my hair?”, he stated with a stern tone and pretended to look surprised.

“And why would I do that Sir?”, the woman asked giving him a half smile.

“It's tradition. The woman of the house braids her warrior's hair to give him good fortune and strength in the battlefield. All Norse warriors receive that treatment. You should be honoured”. He joked. His face remained still though in an attempt to convince her that he was very serious.

“Oh sure, I can do that. Would you perhaps want me to do your make up as well, princess?”, she asked him chuckling to herself.

“You mock me”, he squinted his eyes at her but his devilish smile gave him away.

“ You started it”, she said heading out the door, “Good day”.

“Good day”, he replied. The door closed and he was left alone.

 

 

17:00 in the afternoon

 

She exited the lecture room still a little dizzy from the teacher's two hour speech about stereotypes for men and women during the Elizabethan era. That man needs to learn how to change the subject sometime in the future, she thought exasperatedly. She had taken so many notes that her hand felt numb. She walked to the entrance hall and the receptionist wished her good evening.

“Good evening to you too, Izzi”, she wished back and smiled at the girl.

She left the building and headed to her favourite coffee shop. It was a little far away, but she did not mind walking. She went everywhere on foot and her legs had gotten used to it by now. And besides, “Three Cinnamon Sticks” made the best coffee. She was not going to pass that up. She needed a strong shot of caffeine if she wanted not to look too drained tonight. Men did not like tiredness, the girls had told her. Of course they didn't. She didn't like it either but what was she suppose to do? If she felt like that she couldn't quite pretend cheeriness, correct?

She entered the coffee shop after 20 minutes only to find it packed with people. Apparently others had the same idea as her. Coffee for our troubles, she nodded knowingly to herself. She took her place in the long line of desperate coffee addicts. As she waited she happened to gaze out the window and then for half a second, that seemed to last longer, as if time had slowed down, she saw black hair adorning a face as pale as the moon. Had she just seen the Go-

“Miss...”, a voice was calling her from somewhere very distant, “Miss...”.

“Yes?”, she suddenly snapped back to reality and was faced with a fidgety blond Scott.

“ What will ye order Miss? There is a line behind ye”, he gestured somewhere behind her.

“ Yes of course, I' m sorry. Am, double cappuccino, sweet please. With cinnamon. Thanks”, she ordered shaking slightly. “That' ll be 3,40 pounds”. She nodded and paid for the coffee. Then with her head lowered she moved to the side to let the next person order.

 _Could it be him?_ , she thought with unease but with a dose of excitement too. What was he doing in Edinburgh? Was he living here? Why did she care? It's not like she knew him. She knew his name and his deeds, both good and bad, but in truth she knew him as much as the next fellow. Yet for some reason that she could not grasp, the thought of such a powerful being residing at the same place as her didn't sit well. Not because he inspired fear, which he did, but because of...because of what? She couldn't name it. Was it his aura? Was it only the fact that she just saw him too... suddenly? Supposedly speaking. She was not even sure of what or who she saw. And so after getting her coffee she walked fast back to her home, to her little fortress. She needed some warmth. A cold hell was awaiting her in the night on a stage she didn't even want to be on.

 

 

21:00 in the night

 

His quest for coffee had been cut short. His favourite coffee shop was full of people and he hated waiting in lines. Back to his penthouse he was now stretched out on the sofa reading a book whose title he could not even remember. Something about heights, it was. He didn't even notice the door opening and Mrs Granzioni walking in with bags of groceries in her hands.

“Sorry for being late, Sir”, she apologised but there was no need.

“No problem. How are your children?”, he asked, not taking his eyes from the book. This Heathcliff was being a pompous arse again.

She set the bags on the kitchen bench. “They are alright. How about you? Did you do anything fun today?”, she asked while preheating a pan and adding some oil.

“No. What are you cooking?”, he replied absent-mindedly, turning a page on his book.

“Grilled chicken with some vegetables I think”, she continued doing stuff in the kitchen, stuff which he had decided a long time ago he was totally useless at. “ Are you going back to that place tonight?”, she inquired.

“No. I am forbidden entrance to the whorehouse from now on. The gentlemen running it told me to never set foot inside again, most graciously I might add. My jaw still feels out of place” , he gave her a half smile but she was not buying his easy going mood. He could tell by the way she lifted the pan and pointed it at him.

“First of all, we don't call it that and second...what did you do again?”, her tone was exasperated. Must it always be him that does something?

“ I seem to have exhausted all the whores”, he replied still not looking at her. He turned another page. He did not wish to discuss it right now. Not looking at her was a sign she could recognise as well as pretending that it was not a big deal. She turned back to her cooking.

“Well... I guess you' ll have to find a new place to waste your life in”, to that statement they both giggled.

“Indeed”, he finally said and closed the book. It was a boring read anyway. It's always about heroes saving damsels in distress and men and women not admitting what they both want due to pride and ambitious people trying to rise above their status nowadays.

 

 

23:00 o'clock, an hour before midnight

 

She entered the club and showed her card to the man at the lobby. He nodded and she stepped through the door leading to the main area. Her feet felt heavy. Guilty. Raw. They were silently refusing to walk but she kept pushing them. _You need the money, shut up and do your job in order to get it_ , she reminded herself and kept on walking taking in the lush interior that she had been observing each night for a month.

The main room was enormous, almost as big as a school yard with marble floors in a cream or champagne colour and so well cleaned that you could spot your reflection if you looked down. She was always so worried about bringing dirt inside, from her shoes, and ruining it. The crimson tapestries on the walls were really something else. Like someone had taken them from another century and had them adjusted in her own. If only red was her colour. The curtains which were draped over them were made out of silk in a light straw colour and had intricate embroidery in shapes of golden horses and flowers that shimmered when the light hit them. The huge couches were velvet red with a lot of pillows in deep blue and light beige shades. The tables and the few chairs were painted gold, but that feature seemed fake and cheap to her. Nevertheless, it was an expensive looking place and people who came in loved the décor and always made nice comments about it to the reception. To her though, it was all too much. Especially the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The crystals were of course, not real and they shed no actual light. They were just accessories to an already overpacked room. Thankfully the bar was simple. A plain surface of dark wood with matching stools and behind it matching shelves as well, with numerous overpriced bottles.

She heard laughter coming from the stools and approached the place where some of her co-dancers, amongst other things, were sat drinking and talking joyfully.

“Good evening lovelies. How are you?”, she asked with a smile on her face, but the morose voice tone betrayed her mood.

“ Oh, we are fine. You on the other hand...”, Susan said gesturing up and down her figure with her forefinger.

“ Yeah, what's the matter with you darling, cheer up”, Grace added. “Thank you girls, I'll try...it's just that...I've been working here for a month now and I still can't get used to it, you know. I' m not even showing much and yet I still feel like I am surrounded by uncultured vultures”, she stated with furrowed eye brows and turned to look at the girls. Some were looking back at her apologetically, but others...

“ Look, it's not that bad honey. It could be a lot worse, you know”, Grace was trying to be polite but in truth she was dropping hints about her own job here.

“ Yeah, at least, you only dance. Imagine if you needed to suck cock too”, Susan was not as delicate as Grace, but at least she was real and did not hold her words back in an attempt to sound sweet.

“Like we do”, Eva whispered.

“ Yes, I know that, I meant no disrespect. I just feel...weird.”, she tried to save it, but Eva would not be lenient with her. She never was.

“ Well, what did you expect? Coming here to dance for an audience that doesn't want to fuck you where you stand? Grow up Little V.”, she accused and lit a cigarette.

“Don't call me that, please”.

“ Just think that nobody is watching, okay? You' ll feel more comfortable”, Grace suggested. “Yeah, I guess you are right”,she agreed falsely. She just wanted this short argument to end.

“Now get back and change. You're up in a hour”, Susan said abruptly giving her a pat on the bottom and saving her from further humiliation.

She smiled and walked away, shouting to the girls behind her “ And you girls, give them nights that they can't tell their wives about”. She heard giggles and cheers.

After going backstage, she changed into her outfit for her dance. She wore her favourite emerald panties. This particular slip was not like those arse slicing thongs the other girls wore to appear more enticing. It covered half of her arse cheeks leaving the rest to the imagination. Her favourite feature though was the fabric. While it was all lace, the part that covered her mound was velvet, and there was nothing better than velvet caressing the dark curls between her legs. Silk was good too, but for more intimate situations. For her dancing, especially in front of lustful men who paid for fucks all night long, she needed armour and velvet was exactly that. She wore no bra. Instead she put on a baggy black flannel shirt somewhat see-through but not too much so that her breasts would not pick out a lot while she danced.

For her make up she did almost nothing. It didn't matter how she looked. All everyone wanted to see was her arse and her breasts. Many wanted to see something else too but she had come to an agreement with the manager about that. She put on some blush to make her face look flustered and innocent, just like everyone wanted and just like her stage name implied. No lipstick, only some gloss in the middle of the bottom lip to make it look plumper than it already was. Her hair she left wild and curly as usual. She had them cut short the year before and it was now some inches below the ears but didn't touch her shoulders.

Show time was about to start and she instinctively touched the inside of her forearm where her tattoo was and repeated the phrase to herself over and over until she felt its confidence and until the throbbing in her stomach subsided. Je suis prête.

 

 

23:50, ten minutes before the show

 

He passed by the place from which he was kicked out the night before. The red neon lights beckoned to him to come inside but he knew all too well the consequences of doing such a thing. Besides, he had started getting bored with that place. “D for Desire” had nothing to offer him, especially after what had transpired the night before between him and the bartender. He remembered the lie he had told Mrs Granzioni. Exhausting all the whores. Well that was not a lie. But he had not told her the truth either. He didn't want to think about it though. These things had stopped affecting him all that much a long time ago and he intended on keeping it that way.

He looked up to the buildings which were coated by the chilly and dark colours of the sky. Edinburgh was beautiful by night. Truly alive. Although everyone thought it dead. Humans did not tend to embrace the night except if they spent it inside their homes or at restaurants and clubs and whorehouses. There was no one walking in the streets. Pity. The dark was so beautiful. This specific dark reminded him of the caves back home. He had discovered them while his brother and father were hunting boars. Enormous caves with deep dark pools which glittered on the surface due to myriads of trimmed crystals that floated aimlessly here and there. He never showed them to anyone. No one was so important to him. And the only person that was...the only woman that was worthy of seeing them, was in Valhalla. And now with his home obliterated from existence, he himself would never see them again. Of course, he could conjure them up with his magic, but it was not the same.

“Oh mother....”, he exhaled and his breath became steam due to the low temperature. Was she watching him from up there? He looked to the stars to find her and when he lowered his gaze back to the streets he spotted a door. A blue door made out of wood with gold accents and a large tablet that had the word “Vallhala” printed on it in gold letters.

“Mother, what are you telling me?”, he murmured tilting his head to the side to examine the inscription better. Before he even knew it, he had crossed the street and was knocking at the blue door. He tried to listen closely to the sounds coming from inside but there were none.

The door opened and two quite bulked up men gestured him to come inside. He stepped into a lush lobby with walls dressed in crimson red tapestries and an expensive Persian rug under his feet. If he was intrigued by the inscription on the door, now he was genuinely curious about this place. He took in his surroundings like a child entering a playground but his reverie was interrupted by one of the men.

“Arms out”, he commanded. A part of him sneered internally at the tone of the bulky man. Does he not know who he is talking to? But then again, this is Earth. He is not a Prince here. Not any more. He is just... a fallen alien. So he did as instructed making sure to magic his knives away first. Once the man was done searching him, he decided that it was time to ask the one million dollar question.

“So, which of you fine gentlemen is going to tell me what this place is?”, he inquired and watched as the two men looked at each other in a way that suggested they knew something he did not. Finally one of them spoke.

“What is your name Sir?”, asked the one that had searched him.

“I' ll tell you my name, if you tell me what is this place”, he answered unrelentingly. The men looked at each other again and then the bulkiest of them nodded with his head towards a door.

“Why don't you take a look inside and then put two and two together by yourself, aye?”, and with that he opened the door behind him.

Music filled the lobby immediately. Slow, mellow music, perfect for alcohol and many other substances, according to his experience on Earth so far. The smell of cigars and whiskey was very strong as it invaded his nostrils. The truly exciting thing though was the people inside the large room. Men, accompanied by whores of all kinds, races, genders and lodgings dancing, drinking, fucking at any empty surface. The mellow music he was hearing was accompanied now and then by whimpers and moans and screams coming from drunken mouths. _Valhalla indeed_ , he thought smiling. Women were dancing naked on poles impaled on a stage just at the far end of the room while some boys, barely 19 years old, were doing drugs on a table at the corner of the bar. Could this place be more perfect for him to spend the remainder of his aeons?

“Price”, was all he said in a flat tone without taking his eyes from the interior.

“250 pounds a night. Drinks on you. Fucks as well. The available boys and girls will inform you of their prices. They know how much they cost”, the man replied.

“250? You must be...excellent at your services to require such a sum”, he grinned wickedly.

“ The very best Sir. Discretion, for one, is a great feature of ours, should your tastes turn out to be a bit...outside of the box”, the man that searched him declared and winked knowingly.

“Fantastic”, with that being said the 250 were easily handed over. Money was never his problem as long as he had his magic to create it.

“Let me take your coat Sir”, one man suggested as the other was counting the banknotes. As soon as he was finished counting he muttered, “ You never told us your name though”.

He was growing impatient and was halfway to the door to absolute sin when he heard the man's enquiry. He turned slowly and smiled at them both.

“Loki Laufeyson. And I suppose drinks are on you?”, he grinned again suggestively. A malicious grin. One that raised no questions.

The men looked at each other almost terrified at this new revelation and finally one of them cleared his throat and said, “ Yes, of course Mr Laufeyson. We... we did not recognise you. Apologies. Drinks on the house and the front table to the stage... free of charge as well”. When the man finished speaking, Loki took a step forward and bowed down slightly in gratitude.

“Oh, gentlemen, thank you wholeheartedly. How generous of you”, and with that he went into the room and the door closed behind him with a light clack. He suddenly felt so satisfied with having terrorised them like that. It meant people still knew his name if not his title. He had changed his ways but some habits would never be relinquished and he knew that.

Walking further into the room he observed the décor. Red, gold, cream. Like a French cabaret. Fake, but he didn't care. He let the atmosphere of the place sink into his pores and be absorbed completely. The scene around him was thrilling. The nakedness, the fumes, the sex, the whores, it was all a very lively bordello cushioned on velvet surfaces and protected under the umbrella of low lights and the fog of the cigars. He hadn't walked into a harem like this since Istanbul's fall, back when he used to deceive young princes and princesses and sultans and kings for the fun of it.

He caught sight of a lovely presence behind the bar and headed that way in search of a quick fuck and a drink to drown his sorrows. The naked from her waist up bartender approached him immediately, heavy breasts bouncing up and down.

“What can I get you Sir?”, she asked all falsely innocent. “ Whiskey. Neat, little one”, he ordered taking in her figure. She was too thin for his taste but that wasn't a problem in a place like this. He hadn't come here to find an ideal wife.

The girl smiled teasingly and went to fetch his drink. A moment later she came back with the small glass and gave it to him, making sure to bent herself enough over the bar bench in order for her assets to be shown properly. She was looking at him intently.

“Do you see something you like little one?”, he asked smiling his best devilish smile. The inviting one this time. That one that made you jump into temptation without thinking it twice.

“You're him, are you not?”, she said smiling oh so shyly. “The one that wanted to rule us but instead saved us from the big...bad titan?”, she explained, although Loki had already understood.

“ Yes I am him, sweet one”, he replied, but something about the way she stated his actions made him feel bitter. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there... saving the world?”, she continued and this time she accompanied her words with the undoing of his tie. Loki chuckled and let her do what he was going to pay her for.

“ The world doesn't need men like me to save it. I leave the fighting to the other family member. He's better at it”, he confessed and was surprised by the ever growing bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped it was from the whiskey.

She was now undoing the buttons of his shirt as slowly and as seductively as she could. “Are you talking about your brother?”, she exclaimed and it threw Loki off instantly. Nonetheless he remained calm and tried to control the bit of anger that had started to build in his bowels.

“ Yes, but I do not wish to talk about him now my sweet”, he said and it came out a little harsher than he had intended. The girl did not notice though. Instead, she jumped on the other side of the bar directly in front of him and grabbed his balls provocatively.

“Okay...what would you like to talk about then?”

“I' d like to use my tongue for...other activities. Wouldn't you agree?”, he suggested and leaned down to bite her earlobe roughly while cupping her bottom. She chuckled like a child and nodded.

“Of course, Mr. Laufeyson”.

He downed his drink and dragged her towards his free of charge front table. He pushed the fake golden table to the side due to it being of no use to him for now and sat down on the soft velvet sofa. The girl straddled him, spreading her legs on either side of his body shamelessly. He had just began kissing her roughly, just like he sensed she liked, when a loud voice was heard from a microphone on the stage. He stopped, wanting to see what all the fuss was about.

“Ladies and gentlemen,”, the voice echoed, “ I am sure you are all enjoying yourselves very much, -yes Mr. Brook I can see you weaving back there-”, the crowd cried with laughter, “ but please, take a break and enjoy our lovely dancers. Refuel your balls and begin anew. Opening the night as usual, our latest recruit to this sinful house, Little V”, the crowd whistled and clapped. The short man on the stage took his leave immediately and a young woman took his place.

Loki raised his head to look at her closely and in that moment, he remembered his mother telling him stories about creatures beyond this world.

 

 

00:00, midnight

 

Andrea's heart was pounding like a war drum. Here they were. All eyes were on her. Lustful eyes, disinterested eyes, dull eyes, drunken eyes. All eyes for which she nurtured no love or respect. They were all just spectators in her charade. Her innocent but wild dance, as the manager would often tell her to cheer her up. All of them expecting her to be the whore that she was supposed to be in that moment and shed her clothes. The end of the show, that was what they were all waiting for. The end of the dance when she would take off her shirt uncovering her breasts for those three agonising seconds, until the curtain fell and she was concealed from their gazes, free to run backstage and cry her heart out. She knew she had to do it. It was part of the deal. With that thought, she walked timidly but decisively on the wooden stage until she reached the metal pole and wrapped her fingers around it, practically strangling it. There was a lump forming in her throat, but she swallowed and pushed it down. _This was not the time for tears. Just a few minutes, just a few minutes, just a few minutes, Je suis prête,_ she kept yelling at herself.

Loki heard it. The swallow, the drowned cry. His enhanced hearing abilities allowed him to and he cursed them for it. He also heard her words. They were merely whispers but he could read them and he was receiving them like short telegraph posts in his own mind. She kept repeating the same thing over and over again. He had sworn to never read people's minds without their permission but this was different. She was screaming and it was too loud to miss it. Her yelling reached his heart and broke it. That cry for self composure found the remaining pieces of his tar black box of a heart and broke it into even smaller ones. She wasn't breathing canonically as well. In his mind he matched her breathing with a woman being chocked. He searched for her eyes which were not meeting his at the moment but were staring instead at an empty space in the distance, wide and afraid, like a deer caught in the headlights. Who was she? What was she doing here? This was not a place for such a creature.

“Off my lap, now”, he commanded, but the girl did not move.

“But, Mr-”.

“Off my lap. Now”, he hissed in her ear and she did as she was told. His eyes darted immediately to the dancer's fingers. They were trembling wrapped around the pole as they were. He realised that she was using the piece of metal for support, both physical and emotional as her knuckles had turned white from the pressure of her grip. _Where did you come from?,_ he thought.

Andrea tried to smile innocently yet seductively at the crowd. She tried to ignore their disinterested faces and forget about their always bad feedback after her dancing. Men had said multiple times to the manager that she was only good for opening up the show but other than that...she wasn't worth much. Like she actually cared about her worth inside a brothel. Pushing away those thoughts she concentrated on the low lights that had started dancing around her and on the wonderful music. Oh, Alex Turner could save her from anything. The song playing was one of her favourites. The girls did that sometimes. They made sure she was dancing to a favourite song in order to relax her a little and for that she was grateful. She tried to sync her heart with the melancholy drum in the intro. She remembered Grace's advice. _Think that nobody is watching_. Besides none of the men in the room were even paying the slightest bit of attention. She couldn't see them because the lights from the projectors were blinding but she knew it.

She raised her arms above her head and took turns caressing them lightly _.“Got your H.P Lovecraft... your Edgar Allen Poe... got your unkind of ravens... and your murder of crows...”_ , the singer sang and she swayed her hips from side to side finally a bit more relaxed. She rubbed her neck and massaged one breast through her flannel. That always made her feel safer for some reason, since she was old enough to have a breast. She dipped down to the floor a couple of times with her knees bent and her legs spread balancing her back on the pole for support. She hated the fact that so many men were taking a look at her inner thighs but she couldn't resist the particular motion. It was so sensual and so challenging and in made her feel like a woman in charge. At least she didn't spread her legs whilst being naked.

 _“You watch Italian horror and you listen to the scores....leather clad and spike collared... I want you down on all fours...”_ , the song continued and she felt as dark as the lyrics suggested. She had a feeling tonight. A strange feeling of one pair of eyes watching her intently but she brushed it aside blaming the hotness of her skin for such audacious illusions. _Keep fooling yourself, it might work_ , she scolded herself.

She squeezed her body against the pole and then let go, wanting to go for three turns around the metal piece while still holding it tightly. Barefoot as she was, she put her balance on one foot and wrapped the not occupied leg around the pole and gathering momentum she began swinging around just at the time when the guitar got quicker. One...two... _“And I know I' m not your type, cause I don't shun the daylight but-”_ , on the third turn she saw him. Fortunately she had the right mind to stop languidly and still wrapped around the pole she lifted her shirt and pretended to caress her belly hoping that she didn't look odd, all the while with her eyes locked on his.

He was held captive by her grey green gaze. Trapped in a velvet sofa with her eyes as the only escape. She held him still although all he wanted to do was shift uncomfortably due to the bulge in his pants. She was scared and that transfixed him. She was making love to the pole and not him and that angered him. He felt his magic try to break free from his fingers in an attempt at release, but he tried to calm the urge down. Since his eyes were occupied, all his other senses were alert and followed shamelessly the movements of her body. The slight squeeze of her adorned with green lace thighs, the strangling grip she had on the metal pole, the hand that caressed her belly slowly accompanying the rhythm of the music and her heaving chest that betrayed the fact that she had no idea why she was doing what she was doing. He knew that he was to blame for her distress and confusion and he revelled in the idea that he was affecting her as much as she was affecting him. She was close. So close that he could snatch her at any moment and no one would know. Yet for reasons he could not begin to fathom... he decided against it. Her voice inside him warned him of her fear and that made him hesitant. He smelled her scent. Sandalwood, sweat, honey, wetness. All in her neck and belly. How he wanted to reach out and plant himself in every inch of her. Something distracted him. Her breathing had sped up and was switching to erratic. She was doing something that made her feel uncomfortable to great lengths, but she wouldn't stop.

Andrea realised only too late what she was doing. She had been dancing in front of him like that, she had showed him her weaknesses and now she was touching an intimate part of her body while looking at him. She was looking at him, only because she couldn't take her eyes away and because she was seeking answers in their depths. Why was she doing this? Her hand had moved from her belly to her breast and she was playing with her nipple underneath her flannel shirt, while her stomach was giving her feathery touches from the inside. Something deep in her womb quivered and shocked her. She tried to make it stop by swaying her hips slowly, completely unwrapping her body from the pole. Once she did that she realised in horror how wet she was. _What are you doing to me?_ , she thought in shock but she couldn't allow it to show in her face any longer. Taking a deep breath she turned her back to him and the crowd. Her little, but provocative action had lasted merely a moment, but that was enough for a chaos of emotions to erupt inside her. In some seconds the song would be over and she knew she had to get rid of that shirt. But she couldn't do it with her front to the crowd. With her front to him. The way he looked at her. She couldn't bear it. _It's too much, please don't look at me, please, I can't_ , she cried internally.

Loki heard her pleading so loudly that it almost split his skull in two. He was aware of her dread. He was aware of her embarrassment, although in his mind there was no need for her to feel like that. Suddenly his stomach was twisting rapidly in frustration. Her back was to him and her face was turned to the side, half looking at the crowd and half at nothingness, but not at him. She couldn't look at him. And she couldn't move like she did before. His eyes followed her shaking hands which moved to her shoulders and lowered the shirt she was wearing. She let the black fabric fall and pile around her ankles exposing an alabaster back too rigid and trembling to be sensual. She extended her right arm above her head and caught the pole while the other covered quickly her naked breasts. He was fascinated by how quickly his own emotions had changed. The urge to climb on stage and give her his jacket was immense and it took him by surprise.

Pain. He felt pain transcending from her to him. He pictured her in his mind, holding those breasts in the palms of her hands, just like a mother cradling a child protectively. His hearing was alert when the first whimper escaped her throat and his breath hitched in his own when he saw that a glistening tear had slipped onto her shoulder and was running down her back. He was suddenly back in Asgard, on the day his father confessed the truth about his heritage. After he had collapsed, Loki had made sure that he was taken care of and then he had ran back to his chambers like a scared boy awaiting punishment. His anger was so great and so ruthless that he had turned blue. The shame. The shame had come then. And the madness which everyone associated him with was created in that very moment. He had to get rid of the blue. He had to get rid of it. He was slicing his skin viciously with one of his smaller knives, when the music stopped and the curtains were pulled abruptly concealing her from him. Taking away a version of himself long buried under the hatred and the guilt.

 

 

01:30 in the early morning

 

She was home at last. This horrendous night was over and now she was safe. Safe? Was she not safe as she danced in front of him? Was she not safe when she was touching her breast in front of everyone? Was she not safe when she had taken off her shirt and showed him her back? She had been safe the whole time. Suggesting the opposite was a filthy lie.

Did anyone hurt her? No. Did he hurt her? Yes. He didn't have to touch her in order to hurt her. He hurt her with his eyes and with what they said to her. He wasn't just looking. He was reading her and he was responding silently to her dancing. What are you doing? Why are you here? You don't belong here. You are not supposed to be in a place like this. Why are you then? And in her mind she had answered with shame. Money. And then she had pleaded him not to look at her. For a second she had wondered foolishly if he read minds.

Had he used his magic on her? She had never behaved like that before, so, if he had used some sort of tick on her, it would explain a lot. She thought about it while she was scrubbing his gaze away off of her skin. She felt violated and she hated it. She felt as though he had raped her with his eyes. Every time she closed her own, she saw him observing her, reprimanding her or feeling sorry for her. But she imagined other things too. Things which she had never imagined before with a man. Little V. That sick name was not random. She kept scrubbing her skin until it got so raw that the slightest touch burned.

She ate and went to bed that night wishing to never see him again but only until she fell asleep did her mind stop playing the night over and over again. For once her pessimism was not the one to put her to bed. Tonight it was replaced by shame. She couldn't shake the fact that she had danced for him and that she had felt like a whore and that he, a dark God, a man of skill and strength, a man with red in his ledger, a reformed warrior, was feeling sorry for her for doing so. Why couldn't he look at her the way all the other men looked? It would have been easier. Rejection would have been easier.


	2. full of contradictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea's first silent encounter, or so she thinks, with the God of Mischief has left her confused and has made her draw conclusions much too quickly. Will her resolve stand, or will a second, more verbal encounter, change her mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you immensely for the response in my first ever fanfic chapter! I loved the comments and appreciated the kudos and the hits! It's nice to know that what I write is likable!!!   
> 1) I know tags are messed up up there, that is why I will inform you of the warnings in each chapter separately, so you know what you're up against. So for this chapter we have: light sexual activity, spanking and orgasm delay ( see? I told you I would treat you to little surprises), a bit of angst (just the right amount to keep you on edge), strong language, a bit of peer pressure but not to the point where it's considered as bullying and lastly mild prejudicial beliefs ( you' ll know what I'm talking about when you read).   
> 2) I would also like to inform you that the situations I am describing inside the sex club/ strip club/ whorehouse, call it what you will, are based in my imagination but have been derived mostly from similar or not so similar situations depicted in books and movies. And I was also inspired by some really heartbreaking and sometimes vulgar, stories and experiences of actual strippers, mostly in America. You can do your own research if you want to get a clearer view of what is really happening inside these establishments. It's not always great...  
> 3) The Scottish accents you saw in the previous chapter and will continue to see in this one as well, I picked up from books and TV series. I have a good ear for accents. Who am I kidding, I am just obsessed with Outlander alright? Fight me.   
> 4) Lastly, I know that some of the dance descriptions might be a little boring and I know this because I read my work again and again to make sure everything is okay. But trust me, if you give them a chance...mmmm.... huge turn on. Just put the song on and let your imagination drift. Besides we all have that one song that awakens the stripper in us.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who decides to stick with the story of Andrea and Loki. Your support and love will not go unrewarded. Love you all! Have a nice reading time!

It was early in the morning, perhaps 4:00 or 5:00, Loki couldn't be sure. He was walking back to the penthouse. He could of course teleport there, but he had come to realise a while back that he actually liked walking in the streets of Edinburgh. Either when the buildings around him were covered by the grey light that slipped through the thick clouds or when the darkness of the night dressed the streets, the old houses, the shops, the stony side walks with a veil of rustiness and sweet abandon. By day, this place could carry all the sadness in the world at the tops of its historical buildings. The golden details here and there in their architecture would remind him briefly of Asgard. By night, it looked like an abandoned post- apocalypse city that could haunt even the bravest of souls. Not only due to the aesthetic of the place. Mind you, Edinburgh was not without its criminality levels or without its drunken individuals.

The sun was still absent from the sky and the dark had become bluer, but was not completely extinguished. He saw some people exiting their houses or opening car doors, starting their morning schedule and going to work. As he kept walking on the frozen street his mind drifted to the events that had transpired mere hours ago and a smirk spread across his face.

He remembered her wonderful body and how it moved to the sounds of drums and guitars. How lovely she looked in her sadness and melancholy, melancholy trapped between furrowed brows and sadness held captive behind closed eyes. But while he watched in awe, he had also acknowledged the fact that her dancing had been somehow forced and that it hadn't been an activity she enjoyed. She had cried out more than once in his head for she didn't want his eyes feasting upon her figure. She had done this in shame, but also out of necessity. _You don't want to be here_ , he had thought quizzically. But she was here. Dancing to a crowd dipped in sweet sin and debauchery, whilst trying to maintain some dignity. The first thing that popped on his mind was that she was doing it for the money. And if that were the case, he couldn't argue that it was an understandable reason.

He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to figure her out and put her pieces together in order to see the whole picture. He needed to solve her. That is why he had fucked that girl last night, the one that had served him his drink, in one of the little rooms upstairs. The first two times he had made the girl come she had spilled very basic information about the little dancing flower, but it was still something.

“Who's Little V, dear one?, he had asked between thrusts, but the girl had only indulged him in her screams and moans. It was difficult for him too, to form the question. His body was tense and his cock hard as steel as he took her. Loki needed an answer though and he would get it out of her. He had forced himself to stop all contact, as soon as he had realised that the girl underneath him was shy of coming again. The guttural cry she produced, because of the denial, had made Loki cover her mouth with his own, trapping her in a calming kiss. He had to interrogate the little whore and what better way to get his answers than give her something to expect.

“ Tell me about her and I will give you what you want”, he whispered sternly in her ear, but she was already growing impatient and had started grinding her pelvis against him in order to get the friction she needed.

“Naughty”, was all Loki had said before smacking her outer thigh hard. She had screamed in sudden pain. Ignoring her, he continued, “ What's her name?”.

“We don't use our real names in the club, it's a rule. Everyone knows her by her stage name, the one the manager has given her, as he has done with all the girls and boys working here. Dancers, waitresses, prostitutes, all have a nickname”, she had said breathing heavily.

“What does it stand for? Her stage name?”, he had asked.

“Honestly, I don't know”, her answer had displeased him and he was not at all convinced that she had spoken the truth. He had brought his face closer to her own and had looked her deep in the eye to scan for any lies.

“Are you certain darling?”, he had whispered calmly, something that created great contrast with his hostile body position.

The girl had given him a once over, wide eyed and lightly shaking, “ Yes, I promise, now please, can I come? It hurts”, she had mewled.

“One more question darling. What does she do here exactly?”, he had moved his face away from her to let her breathe and concentrate on answering correctly. Denying someone an orgasm was great frustration, especially if one was not used to it and from what he could gather, this girl had never been in a situation like this before. But if she answered his questions, just like he wanted, he would end her torture. And his.

“She's only a dancer. She doesn't take clients”, she had said.

“Is she here every night?”, he pressed.

“That is two questions”, she exclaimed in a sassy tone.

Loki had registered another hard smack and had practically growled, “ Answer me”.

“Yes, yes...I'm sorry. She is here every night, now please...please, make it stop, plea-”, but Loki had wasted no more time. He had been about to burst as well, so he had turned her around and positioned her in all fours. He had taken her hard, fucked her into oblivion and had her coming within seconds. But he wasn't done yet.

He had emptied himself inside her a couple of times more to make sure she was exhausted enough to give him more information. When he was spent, laying beside the now oversensitive girl, he had whispered, “ Little V...”, and she had chuckled.

“She absolutely hates that name”, the girl had said.

“ She has every right to. It sounds a bit childish, don't you think?”, the girl had laughed harder.

“Well, to be honest, she is a child”. That remark had picked his interest.

“ How old is she?”.

“Mm, 19? 20? I am not sure”, she had yawned, “ Still a child, for a place like this. She is lucky that the manager took pity on her and gave her the job”, she concluded.

Before Loki could phrase his next question though, the girl had started snoring lightly beside him. He had gotten up then and had left her payment on a table next to the door, with something extra for the information and had walked out.

A particularly cold gush of wind brought him back to the present. He wasn't very far now. Breakfast would have gone cold again though by the time he would reach the penthouse. He hadn't realised how long a distance he had walked before discovering the club last night.

He had already decided to return to that place. Back to the dancing flower. It wasn't really a decision, if he wanted to be honest with himself. To his great surprise it was or had become at some point during last night, a fact.

 

***

 

Andrea was sitting with some classmates at the Student Union's cafeteria, having launch and struggling to include herself in the conversation. The cafeteria was huge, so at least she didn't feel trapped or in great need to get some air. The white walls adorned with pictures of last year's students and the enormous floor to ceiling windows, made the place look that much wider. The waitresses had pulled back the curtains to allow the natural light in. Andrea had discovered that due to the gloominess of the city, the people here craved sun rays more than anything, and when they were blessed with them, they would open every door and every window in order to let the light consume and warm them. In her opinion, they were being dramatic. If they didn't like the dark greyness of Edinburgh then why had they chosen to live here?

Turning her head to her left, she noticed that Matthew' s lips were moving. She tried to concentrate and soon her mind was unblocked and his words reached her,

“ Bullocks, ye hear me lass? Bullocks!”, he emphasized the last word. She tried to drown a chuckle. It was really funny when Scottish people uttered that word.

“ Oi mate, stop whining. It's not me fault that ye didn't memorise all the notes I gave ye. Ye' ll do better in the next test”, said Sam. They were referring to last week's test. Everyone in her class had gotten their results today and were not extremely happy about it.

“Yeah, sorry, alright! I just dinna expect a C-” .

“ I didn't do so well either. A- was not-”, Katherine started to say but was rudely interrupted.

“Ohhh, fuck ye Kate!”, the boys practically screamed in her face.

“What?”, she retorted, “ I worked my ass of, I deserved plus, not minus”, she concluded with a weird twist of her lips.

Andrea felt really uncomfortable around that girl. She didn't know her well, but so far her impression was not good. She was too proud and too “well- bread” and she didn't hesitate even one second to remind them all of that fact. She always whined about how much she studied and how rude it was of her teachers not to reward her for it. Her whole mindset was structured around high school rules. But... this was not high school. This was university. She needed to grow up.

“What about you Andrea? What mark did that useless pig of a teacher give you?” she suddenly asked startling Andrea.

“B+”, Andrea simply said, watching Katherine' s lips form a false apologetic smile.

“Oh, it's okay, don't worry. In time you' ll get better”, she said, oh so politely, and Andrea wanted to slap that smile off her face.

“I just can't wrap my finger around it Andrea”, her head turned to Nick's direction. What did, he, want now? If she hated Katherine once, she wanted to kill Nick and feast in his corpse.

“What do you mean, Nick?”, she put some emphasis on his name in hopes of warning him that she was in no mood to fuck around.

He gave her a pretentious smile and replied, “ I just don't understand how you can interpret Shakespeare better than a Brit”, he shrugged and took a sip from his coffee.

“ I use my imagination”, she said, her face cold and unmoving.

“Yes, of course you do, but then again... I wonder...with English not being your first language, mm... how do you do it?”, he rubbed the tip of his forefinger on his chin. What was he implying exactly?

“With patience”, she kept her answers short, because she didn't want him or the others to see how she greeted her teeth every time she spoke.

For a couple of moments they looked at each other like vultures fighting over an animal' s corpse. Andrea broke eye contact only when Sam finally said, “Okaaay, let's keep calm, alright?”, and after Nick had stopped staring at her, “ With that being said... are we going to the party tonight?”

“What party?”, Andrea asked flatly.

“ There's a party happening at a local club near Uni and tonight it's got a hippie theme. What d' ye say lasses and lads?, he looked around excited.

“But we need to study for-”, Katherine started, but was interrupted by Matthew.

“Oh come on spoilsport, loosen up. Andrea, are ye coming?”

She thought about it for a bit. Was it really a good idea going to that party? She truly preferred staying home, perhaps read a book, until she had to leave for her shift at the men's club. But then she wondered, how would she make friends and how would she socialise if she didn't go out? It was a good opportunity to see new people and let go for one or two hours.

“Alright. But I'll have to leave early. I am not one to stay up late at night”, she finally answered.

“Fine...”, Matthew said with an undertone of exasperation coating his voice, “ For Christ's sake, where did ye grow up? In a nun house?”, then he burst out laughing and the others followed his example. But Andrea remained silent.  
  


***

 

Hours later she was back at her tiny apartment, fresh coffee on her desk, unpacking the books from her bag, arranging clothes and cooking a gigantic portion of lazania with bacon that would last her for three days. She always cooked big portions of foods. That way she didn't have to cook every single day. She knew that although that plan was convenient it wasn't at the same time very healthy, heating the same food again and again. But she didn't have much of a choice. After cooking and eating some of it, she cleaned the kitchen thoroughly and then moved to do the same in the bathroom. She was doing fine, until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, like it was last night, during her dance and that fact triggered her memory.

She let down the detergent and the small towel she used for swiping surfaces and allowed images from last night to flood her mind. She had successfully pushed out the thought of him all day, but now he was invading her thoughts once more, as her hand moved instinctively to rest at her breast. The one she had teased in front of him the night before. Looking deeper into her eyes in the mirror, she saw his. In them, she had spotted the lust, the hunger, the fury, the sorrow and to her great displeasure, the pity. She remembered the resolutions she had made last night, that she would not let him affect her. That she would make her heart steel and push out of her system all the feelings he sparked inside her. She was stronger than simple lust and-

Her trail of thought was interrupted by the bipping sound coming from her phone. It was Sam.

 

 _Got the address. No 6, Downton street. D' ye know where it is or do ye want me to come and pick ye up?,_ the message said.

 

 _No, sorry I don't. You' ll have to come._ She pressed sent.

 

 _You got it. See ya in an hour._ She received almost immediately.

Thankfully she wouldn't have to find the place on her own.

An hour later she was exiting the building, where she lived, and upon seeing Sam waiting, she raised her hand and waved joyfully. He gave her a quick once over and muttered jokingly, “ Matthew was right. Nun house indeed”. She faked a laugh and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder followed by a “shut up”, which made him laugh.

As they walked she wondered morosely, what was so wrong with her clothes? It was cold, what was she supposed to wear? She was aware that her choice of attire wasn't exactly what a hippie would put on, but nonetheless it was adequate and she felt comfortable in it.

 

***

 

He had left the penthouse a little earlier today, because he wanted to experiment with the dark roads, in hopes of discovering a less time consuming way of getting to the club. It was 22:30 when he heard music beginning and ending abruptly, as if a soundproof door was opening and closing. It was coming from the bottom of a metal staircase on the other side of the street. Curious, as he was by nature, he followed the swiftly interrupted tune and halted at the top of the stairs just as a young woman was ascending them, followed by a boy with a cigarette in his mouth. He looked to the ground and noticed that he was stepping on a colourful leaflet. He squinted his eyes trying to read what it said. _Hippies? Really?_ , he thought. _What? No better ideas?_

He made to leave, but a distressed voice stopped him. A girl was leaning her back against the wall, in the small clearing at the bottom of the stairs. She had pale skin and fiery red hair, but her hair wasn't the only fiery thing about her. She was pushing at a young man's chest, whimpering and cursing.

“Calm down Katherine”, the boy told her but she was furious.

“Don't tell me to fucking calm down”, she barked and then added, “That whore... that …that Greek piece of trash. Look at what she's done to him. He can't fucking take his eyes off her. Look!”, she motioned to the door which opened once more to let some random girls out.

“Now ye' re being mean, hey-”, whatever he had to say she was not interested.

“I swear she put a spell on him. Fucking witch. All she had to do was sway her hips and just like that...”, she clicked her thumb and middle finger, “ ...she trapped him. Where the fuck did she learn to dance like that?... Matthew? Matthew?”, she punched him in the ribs and he jerked back in pain, “Are you listening to me? Or has she hypnotised you too?”, she sneered.

Loki wondered what was this twist of fate. Could they really be talking about the little dancer? It was a long shot, but if she was the one the redhead was talking so foully of...He couldn't resist the temptation of checking for himself.

Part of him thought that this was foolish. It couldn't be her. The dancing flower awaited in the luxurious whorehouse, not in an underground club. It was highly unlikely that he would find her in there, but that thought didn't stop him from teleporting inside in a mist of green and gold.

He looked around the place, thoroughly, but all the smoke and the loudness of the music and the people, all bunched up together like fish, was distracting him. That was until her scent reached his nostrils. The middle of the dance floor. There she was, dancing to a slow tune under the musical instructions of a woman's sultry and raspy voice. He hid himself in the shadows, not wanting his presence to interfere with the magic her body was releasing.

“ _Down on the West Coast, they got a sayin'... if you' re not drinkin'...then you're not playing... but you've got the music, you've got the music in you..._ ”. Her hands were above her head and her fingers were forming little patterns in the air, as if she was casting some kind of love spell. With her body stretched like that and her chest pushed forward, Loki felt the freedom pumping loudly in her heart. The delicate fingers buried themselves in her beautiful dark locks ,brushing them back and away from her face to show off her bold features and swan like neck. A light touch of a finger tip here and there, on the hollow of her throat or her collar bones suggested that she was enjoying herself to the fullest. Half open luscious lips. Sweaty throat glistening in the myriads of lights cast around the room. Loki pictured his teeth sinking to the skin there, marking her as his. These thoughts sent a powerful heat wave through him and down to his cock and the way she touched herself wasn't helping his situation at all. Was this truly the woman he had seen last night? The little deer caught in the headlights? Trapped between what she had to do and who she was doing it for?

“ _I can see my baby swingin'... his Parliament's on fire and his hands are up... on the balcony and I singin'... ohh baby, ohhh baby, I'm in love..._ ”. The music became even slower than before and so did her moves. She brushed her fingers against the passage between her breasts and it did not matter that it was covered by fabric. Loki heard the jolt of electricity from her skin against the black wool anyway. She closed her dark eye lids and leaned her head to the side. Her hands massaged her hip bones, as if she was cupping and urging on the hands of an invisible partner. Swaying and grinding from side to side, slowly and sensually, Loki fixed his eyes on her leather pants. Every time a light hit them, they would produce a soft glow that bounced on her legs and then was released again into the room, like little Nordic fairies were clutching at her and then let go. Those semi-spread thighs were making him dwell once more on highly inappropriate thoughts, so he turned his gaze back to her face, where he was greeted with a wide, full-teeth smile. He smirked delightfully. _What are you thinking about little dancer?,_ he wondered, but refused to penetrate her mind and find out. That honest stretch of her lips had his long dead heart swell with life and that feeling both surprised and unsettled him deeply. The idea of wanting himself to be the reason for her smile was disturbing. _Ohh, stupid, stupid sentiment_. Since when was it able to reach him and manipulate him?

“ _You push it hard, I pull away, I'm feelin' hotter than fire, I guess that no one ever really made me feel that much higher..._ ”, Loki swallowed hard, because the moment the song quickened, the little dancer started thrusting her hip upwards, with arms on her sides and throat stretched backwards and fully exposed. One of her thighs was spread a little wider and with loose arms and messy hair, she bewitched him and everyone around her. To his great displeasure, all male eyes were on her. Even young men with other women in their arms could not tear their gaze away from her figure. His lips formed a thin line, as he observed them, looking at her like vultures. What was this feeling that overwhelmed him now? Anger? Jealousy? Possessiveness? Was it even reasonable to feel like this for a woman you didn't even know? _I do what I want_ , he thought. He was the arrogant one. The playful and the cunning. And he would have her dancing only for him one way or the other.

“ _Move baby, move baby, I'm in love..._ ”, Andrea stopped dancing gradually and opened her eyes, coming back to reality. She would have danced till the end of the song, but something unsettled her. She was aware of the eyes upon her, but there was a particular pair that had her searching around the room in panic. A few moments ago she had let go completely, but she couldn't any more. She sensed him all around her. Like he was a virus travelling through the smoke in the ceiling. Watching. Waiting. Smiling wickedly. That smile... more of a smirk with a dose of danger. She couldn't deny that it was quite handsome, especially in a face as sharply structured as his. She took a look around again, but instead of seeing him, her eyes fell on a huge clock on the wall behind the bar bench. 22:50.

“Fuck”, she cursed. She went straight to the couch, where she had left her coat and bag, and bolted off, not bothering to wish her classmates good night. She knew it was rude, but she didn't have time. Her shift started at precisely 23:00. It didn't matter that she appeared on stage at 00:00. When she had first started dancing in the club, the manager had told her that at 23:00 she had to show her card to the guards on the lobby. It was part of the schedule. Being there an hour earlier meant that she could have more time to get ready for the stage, perhaps have a few drinks and relax before her show.

She was practically running on the side walk. 23:10 and she was still heaving and panting. In her defence, it wasn't easy to walk fast on leather booties with heels, even if the heel was short and kind of chunky. She was also worried about the shadows which were cast all around her, enveloping her in their darkness. Even the shadow of trash on the side of the street looked sinister. This constant alertness made her look behind her shoulder many times to make sure that nobody was following her.

To her great discomfort, she reached the club at 23:20. 20 whole minutes late. She showed quickly her card to the guards and the bulkiest of them wrote something in a small notepad and confirmed her lateness.

“I know, I'm so sorry Mr. MacGregor”, she apologised. Mr. MacGregor was a good man. That she could tell. The girls had told her too. Apparently he was feeding a family of four all by himself, after his wife had passed. Andrea respected him for that. He always made sure that both her and the other girls were safe while working. He looked out for them, especially for the girls who took clients.

She smiled again apologetically and he opened the door to the main area. Andrea walked in, hoping that no one would notice her.

 

***

 

Loki had been waiting at his front sit table, drinking his whiskey and watching the fuckery evolve around him. He was particularly fond of observing a man, on a couch nearby, taking a male whore hard and he wondered how long had it been since he' d done that. Perhaps later tonight, he would indulge in male company.

He heard the door at the far back of the room open with a screeching sound and snapped his head towards whoever had entered. He had been expecting the little dancer eagerly. Apparently she had been late, because she was panting slightly and she was a bit red in the face. She was passing hurriedly by the bar when the girl he had fucked last night, stopped her. She leaned forward and whispered something in her ear, something that obviously disturbed the little flower for her back straightened gradually and went rigid. She lowered her head and turned it on the side casting a quick glance at his direction. He caught her gaze and held it for ten agonizing seconds before she ran backstage. He didn't know what to make of this little incident, but right now he didn't much care.

His thoughts now consisted of a long and thick chain of questions, soon to be answered. How would she be tonight? What will she be wearing? How would she move? Like last night, or like the way she had moved at the underground club? Would she notice him? Would she beg him to look away? Shy away from him? Or would she release the witch caged inside her?

The minutes until her dance passed by in an excruciatingly slow pace. He was growing impatient just by the thought of her. His control had been impeccable all his life. How could she, a human, make him lose all of it in mere seconds? The idea that she was not of Earth kept nudging at him. She must be of Asgard, or some exotic planet. But not of Earth. People on Earth were boring. Men and women. Boring and needy, just like the little harlot who was approaching him at this very moment. Loki wished her gone, but he would be as polite as possible.

“How are you this evening, Mr. Laufeyson?”, she greeted and sat on the couch beside him.

“Very well sweet one. And how are you? I sincerely hope you can walk without pain?, he smirked and she laughed a screeching laugh.

“You're such a tease”, she stated and looked away pretending to be abashed, “ Why don't we go upstairs, ha? You seem tense...”, she added, but he would have to refuse her request. He was right where he wanted to be. But that didn't mean he couldn't play with her a little.

“ Back for some more of my cock?”, he joked.

“Well, it is a magical thing, isn't it?”, apparently she took his bitter joke as an invitation, as she moved to undo his pants.

Loki pushed her hands away lightly and said sternly, “Not tonight sweet one”.

“Why? You were really into it last night...what happened now?”, she asked poutingly.

“Don't be greedy”, he said and he turned towards the stage, downing his drink.

She scoffed suddenly and Loki snapped his head back at her direction, “It's her, isn't it?”, she asked then.

“I' m afraid I don't understand your meaning girl”, he pretended.

“I' m sure you don't. She has you all wrapped up in her web, right? How does she do that? It's not like she beds you all...”, she stated and all the smiles and false pretences fell from her face.

“ Well, she is a magical thing, isn't she?”, Loki mimicked her expression from before and gave her a wide smile. The remark angered her and thus she got up and left without another word.

Loki raised his eye brows in askance. What was this fit of jealousy that seemed to surround the little dancer? The bartender was the second person tonight to have spoken ill of her. Well, she did make the competition hard, with that luscious and ripe body of hers and that smile that had burned him alive and was still scorching him.

“Ladies and gentlemen...”, the familiar voice of the presenter echoed in the room. _Finally_ , Loki thought in exasperation. The man finished his speech quickly and welcomed the young woman to the stage.

Little V. He was curious about the meaning of the name. V for Violet? Vana? Vivian? Vera? Venus? Valerie? All thought was driven from his mind though, as soon as he set eyes upon her.

She was dressed in white tonight, like a fallen angel. White panties, bralette and an extremely see-through shirt of no colour which allowed him to take a look at the strong and defined core underneath. Since her skin had a golden straw-like sheen to it, the white fabrics popped up a lot more. All the dark make up from the previous party had been removed and replaced with luminous silver highlights upon her cheekbones, forehead, nose and chin. The light from the projectors was hitting her face just right, for she looked angelic and her glow had Loki mystified.

Andrea really did not want to dress like that, especially after noticing that he was here for a second night. But since she was late, she had arranged her clothing pretty quickly and had no time to find something that would cover her more. Were it in her hand she would have come out in a potato sack and to hell with showing off her breasts and pleasing the customers. Some men, far behind Loki, whistled a couple of times and she hoped that an enormous hole would open in the ground right this instant to swallow her, just like it happened in magicians' shows.

Loki noticed her blushing a bright pink at the men's whistling. He deducted that she wasn't used to such forward behaviour or praise. She made a couple of steps towards the pole and wrapped her fingers around it. She nodded her head slightly, a sign for the music to begin.

Upon hearing the intro, she cursed inwardly. She knew which song was that and how powerfully it started and ended. She didn't want to do this, not just like she hand' t wanted to do it every night, this time the feeling was ten times stronger. And the fact that this was one of her favourite songs made the whole process more difficult. Because that is what is was. A process that gave her money and secured bills and food. Tonight, she didn't want a favourite song. She wanted to dance to a hideous, disturbing melody, because she knew that she danced best when she was inspired by artists. But she didn't want to give her best to the God of Mischief. She wanted to bore him, tire him and make him leave or at least take some girl upstairs and stop looking at her like that. _Just don't look at him_ , she kept repeating to herself as she swayed her hips.

When the guitars burst into a strong metal solo she gathered momentum and jumped on the pole, took a turn and then landed back down. She decided to keep doing that until the guitars quieted down. Jump, take a turn, land. It was easy for her, since her legs were long and she could swiftly wrap one around the pole and then land steadily on the other. This particular pole dance move though, required not only physical strength, but also a force coming from within one's soul. She tried to focus on the first and reduce the second. She would not give her soul to him or any other man in this room.

“ _I used to think, darlin' you never did nothin', but you were always up to somethin'...always had a run in, yeeah..._ ”. Loki marvelled at the strength with which she aviated her body from the ground and the grace with which she landed back down. For as long as she had been turning and twisting in the air, he had observed every toned muscle. The muscles of her biceps, the muscles of her inner thighs and the muscle of her stomach and belly, all tensed up and tight. Yet it didn't elude him that she was holding back. The expression on her face proved it. No dirty smiles now as she rubbed her neck and chest or as she dipped down to the ground, legs spread and knees bent. Only a thin line of lips, as she pressed them together, and a taut jawline.

 _It' ll be over soon, shut up, no crying._ He flinched his head to the side violently at the sound of the harsh command. Her attempt at comforting herself or a way of embracing the pain, in hopes that she could reduce the shame which, now, even her chest and arms betrayed, as they too had turned pink.

“ _Dance all night, 'cause people, they don't wanna be lonely...they don't wanna be an only..._ ”. _And what about you little dancer?,_ he thought, _Do you want to be lonely?._ Now his own jaw tightened. Loneliness he knew all too well.

At that moment, Thor's words came to his mind, “ _… I thought the world of you...at the end of the day, you're you and I'm me and...maybe there's still good in you but...let's be honest, our paths diverged a long time ago_ ”. Upon remembering these words he realised how his face must have looked and so he turned it sideways. He wouldn't risk the little dancer seeing him like this. Weak. _Our paths diverged a long time ago.._. he heard the echoes _,_ although they were immediately silenced by a single chocked out whisper that brought him greater sadness than his own brother's words ever did. _Whore_... he heard her accuse.

His head snapped, meeting her dead in the eye as if she had electrocuted him with a wire. But it was she who felt the jolt and the fire. It started burning deep in her belly and little by little it reached her mound, causing a tingling to develop there. Thankfully, she didn't have time to be tortured further by the sensation, as the song was reaching the last guitar solo. She had to focus on the acrobatics. This time she did not jump on the pole, but instead turned around it as fast as she was able. Eventually the force with which she moved aviated her from the ground. She turned around like this for as long as her arms could hold the pole without being injured. It had been enough, because her timing was perfect. She landed on the ground just as the song quieted down. She then let the see-through flannel fall from her shoulders, still swaying her hips every time the electric guitar breathed out its last breaths. It was time now. Her fingers reached behind her back to undo the fastening of the bralette, but she froze. Her eyes connected with his, one last time, and all her defences broke down. All her resolve to not let him affect her was reduced to flimsy pieces of nothingness. His eyes...

Loki saw her getting through those last moments with swaying hips and a quivering lower lip, brows furrowed and shaky breath. He wanted to soothe her. Tell her not to worry and not to cry. Magic her away somewhere safe. Assure her that he was there now and that everything would be alright. But that was exactly the problem. He was here. And there was a possibility that, to her, his presence meant that he wanted to see what all the other men wanted to see and get off from in an entirely wrong way. Nakedness. Exposure. Coyness and the sweet flesh of someone so young.

How to convince her that he was not here for such a thing? He was a Prince. A God. A King once. He had learned how to respect and how to be respected, to a great level. He had been taught how to control his desires and to whom to inflict them upon. His beloved mother had educated him in women's hearts and experienced concubines in women's needs. He would never force her to strip like that. Humiliate her in such degree, unless she wanted it. But she did not know all these bits about him. And as the curtain gradually hid her from him he heard her apologise, causing a short angry eruption of magic from his fingertips. _I'm sorry...I'm sorry, I can't... please.. I just... sorry_.

When Andrea was sure that she was completely covered by the curtains, she ran backstage, wiping away the tears. When she reached her changing room she began to strip into new underwear and got dressed into the clothes from the party. Picking up the white slip, she saw in horror and disgust a large wet dot spread out all over the middle of it. How could she draw pleasure out of this? How and why her body reacted like this when her mind refused to participate? She chocked a cry threatening to break free and shoved the underwear in her bag. Once home, she would burn it in the trash can. Just as she was about to leave, the manager busted into the room all red in the face.

“Where do you think you're going?”, he said, barely withholding his anger.

“My shift is over. I was heading home Sir”, she replied having no idea what was going on. Perhaps he wanted to scold her for her lateness before she left.

“Oh, no. You're not going anywhere. You are covering for Sofia tonight. She called in and said she was sick. She couldn't come”, he stated.

“What? No, please, Sir, I have never served drinks before, I...I... I might spill them-”, her excuses did not matter to him.

“Do not question me”, he pointed at her face with his finger. “You were late tonight and for two nights straight you haven't shown any tits, like we had agreed. The least you can do is go out there and serve the men their damn drinks!”, he barked and Andrea flinched, “Am I understood?”.

She lowered her head and nodded, “Yes Sir, I'm sorry. It wont happen again”. Damn her subservient nature.

“It better not!”, he warned, “ And take off that shirt. The clients want to see skin, not fucking wool!”, and with that he left.

She adjusted her outfit as best as she could and that meant leaving the leather pants, her booties and her black bralette on. She got into her leather jacket, allowing only the skin in her tummy and stomach to show. She knew that she was still overdressed for this place, but with Loki out there and all the other hungry men, she also knew that she needed all the coverage she could get.

She exited the changing room and went to take her place behind the bar. Even in the dim lighting she could still spot any costumers who raised their hands in demand of a drink.

After taking the first few orders and delivering bottle after bottle to the drunk men, she hadn't only gotten used to the process, but also she had become quite adept in escaping from their groping and much too forward advances. It was hard work, she couldn't deny it. Especially when a man, who apparently was drunk beyond the norm, had tried to lunge at her and take off her jacket, she had finally grasped the concept of the place she worked in, for she was seeing up close what happened on the other side of the stage. Thankfully, Mr. MacGregor had intervened quickly and had gotten the man off of her.

While she served, she had resisted the urge to look at Loki, believing that should she dare glance towards his direction he would take it as a sign that she was available. But she could hold back no more. She stole a glance, but he was not at his usual spot. On the table she made out five, maybe six bottles of Jack Daniels. _Someone is a drinker_ , she thought amused. She figured that he must have left or taken some girl to the private rooms upstairs. Or a man.

She lowered her gaze back to the bench to arrange some bottles, umbrellas and bowls with peanuts in them. To her left, someone sitting on a bar stool was ordering whiskey. First of all, she was really surprised that someone in here was sober enough to sit in a stool and second, that was perhaps the 30th order for whiskey she had taken within 30 minutes. It astonished her how much British people could drink in one night. She knew that things were worse in cities like London, but nonetheless this was the 30th order, alright?

She poured the drink quickly, anxious to go and get the bottles from Loki's table. She gave the drink to the stranger without so much as a glance and bent down to get a disk from a cupboard.

“You know it's rude not to look at someone in the eye”, he said loud enough so that she could hear him without the music muffling his words. He hated calling her out for rudeness, especially since he knew that the lack of eye contact served as a shielding mechanism for her. But he really needed to see even just a piece of her character.

Andrea stopped what she was doing. To begin with, no one had ever called her rude before and no one had the right to, particularly in a place like this, where a glance meant that one was keen on fucking or being fucked. Also, whose voice was that? It was dancing between unbearable teasing and vibrating sultriness. To whom this sophisticated voice belong to and what was he doing here? Voices like these needed to be heard in politics or in the bedroom.

She looked up and flinched violently backwards, almost landing on the full of bottles shelves behind her. He was sitting in front of her. Right in front of her. Only a pathetic piece of wood separated them.

Seeing her clumsy reaction, he chuckled lightly, a chuckle that sent shivers down her spine, “Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. Are you alright?”, he inquired, giving her the warmest smile his wicked face could conjure.

Her eyes darted briefly to his lips and then back to his eyes. _Of course he would have a beautiful voice_ , she thought shamefully. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest and its loud sound prevented her from concentrating on what to say. She knew she had to say something, but English didn't come easy at the moment and the fact that her belly and stomach were exposed made her cheeks catch fire. Both pairs of them.

Believing that it would give her some protection and confidence, she discreetly pulled the edges of her jacket closer to her skin and whispered in a shaky voice, “It's fine...I'm fine, don't worry Sir”. She thought to herself that she was acting like a child caught eating candy.

Loki barely heard her reply. He had noticed immediately her discomfort and her attempt to hide behind the leather. It was something he had done as well, not a long time ago. Her short answer was an attempt to get rid of him and save herself from having to talk. But she was too abashed to bolt off and away from his gaze. Like a gazelle in front of a lion.

“What's your name darling?”, he asked tilting his head to the side, so that he could study her from a different angle.

“I don't take clients Sir”, she responded within seconds, making Loki's face harden. Not because of her answer, but due to the fear which was painted all over her face while giving it. If he wanted to be fair, her behaviour was beyond understandable. Men had tried to grab her all night. Groping at every part of her body, one almost tearing off her jacket. He had noticed.

“ That's not what I asked little dancer”, he stated in a stern, but caring tone. He hoped deep to his bones that he did not inspire fear in her. But from what he could gather...she was terrified. Could it also be so because of his identity?

“I am not allowed to give you my name. It's against security rules”, she told him, feeling a need inside her not to disappoint him. There was something intriguing about this man...or God. She wasn't sure but he... he made her feel somewhat safe. Or maybe not safe, exactly. Perhaps the right word for it was not included in her English vocabulary.

“And if you were allowed...”, he started, his voice raspier now, “... would you give it?”.

She looked around the room anxiously, her eyes darting anywhere and everywhere except for his face. He decided to drop the delightful facade. It didn't suit him and it did nothing to reduce her discomfort.

“Do I frighten you that much pet?”, he asked with complete honesty. Maybe manipulation could work better. Knowing that she was of a delicate and introverted nature, the last thing she would want to do was make someone feel unwanted.

At the sound of the last word, Andrea felt a zany warmth overtaking her. She wrapped her arms, again discreetly, around her body to trap it in and confessed, “ No...no you don't”, she looked at his lips again, “ It's just against the rules”, she concluded and stared at the floor.

Loki leaned a bit forward and gave her his best devilish smile. Glancing sideways to make sure no one was listening to them, he said, “ And do you always follow the rules?”, and the bright pink spread across her face in an instant.

“Yes...”, she whispered staring at the intimidating stretch of his lips. Her breathing shook as her core pulsed slightly.

“Pity. Breaking them is so much more fun”, the feathery touches in her stomach caressed her and she shivered.

He downed his drink and sitting up, he said, “Until next time, little dancer”, and without a second glance, he was out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I would do this or not, but I'll just try it experimentally. I was thinking about mentioning the songs I use for the dances, but then I thought that if you want to know which they are you can simply copy paste a lyric on youtube and the song will appear. But, whatever, I' ll just mention them here as well. So for the first chapter, the song was "You're so dark" by Arctic Monkeys. In this chapter the songs mentioned are, "West Coast" by Lana Del Rey and "Weight of Love" by The Black Keys. 
> 
> Also...
> 
> Here you can find a link to a picture which is quite representative to the lingerie Andrea is wearing for the dance (because I just love beautiful lingerie and mind you, this particular picture had a filter, so instead of white, the lingerie is a bit creamy. But you just imagine them white) : https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/215328425918574163/  
> And here is a picture for the extremely see-through flannel type of thingy I am attempting to describe (minus the feathery details) : https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/513832638725190437/  
> -Pictures are found on pinterest, like, always (lol). I spend my life in there. 
> 
> Thank you again! Comments, kindly phrased, are more than welcome! Kudos as well! See you next Thursday.


	3. leather strapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They might not have exchanged many words the previous night, but Andrea's mind is set on discovering the reasons why the God of Mischief would ever initiate a talk with her. She cannot accept, understandably so, the fact that he simply wanted to talk. And while trying to figure that out, she also faces another problem which seems to begin from the university environment and extend to the working place. Will she manage to control the situation or will her temper get the better of her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you are all doing great and that life isn't giving you many lemons! So, recently there was a tiny (well not tiny for me) problem with the abuse team of the archive, due to the appearance of a duplicate of my first chapter. According to my understanding those are created because something weird happens in the "notes at the end" part and every time I add notes, for instance on chapter 2, the ones from chapter 1 are being repeated as well. Frankly, I don't know how this happens or how to stop it. I cannot tell you how much I panicked, okay, I just can't put it into words. I was exchanging emails with the team where they would talk about deleting stuff or putting warnings on my account and I would be sitting in front of my laptop, on the other side of the world frozen and yelling inwardly for them to have mercy on me. But hey, in my defense they were using all those MIT computer science terms on me and I just couldn't understand. In the end, the problem was dealt with, as they informed me and so I will remain in the archive and post my chapters freely. They gave me the fright of my life, but I am willing to put it behind me and continue my creative work. With that out of my chest, let me give you some extra guidance for the following chapter:  
> 1) separate warnings for the chapter would be strong language (is this even a warning any more?), dramatic angst (actually it seems dramatic to me, but I don't know how you guys will interpret it, I only wanted to show a different side of Andrea's character wherein, she can be veeeeery wild but it all came out dramatic in the end, at least that's how I see it) and lastly there will be slut-shaming (which personally, I hate, I was practically fuming when I wrote those parts).  
> 2) now, this is a bit of a spoiler note. I would put it in the "notes at the end", but as I have explained above, something weird happens and I am scared of using the ending notes just in case I receive an email tomorrow morning saying "oh, oups, you have a duplicate on chapter 2". So from now on, bare with me and if you would be so kind, read the summary of the chapter, proceed reading the chapter and then, should you want to see the beginning notes, leave them for last to prevent potential spoilers. So, the spoiler here is that, Andrea has a problem with the word "whore", only because it is directed at her as an insult and due to the fact that she cannot (for now) tell the difference between being called "whore" generally and vaguely and being called someone's "whore" ( I think you can understand whose, wink wink). And that is completely understandable, because it is too soon for her to be thinking like that. To be thinking of him like that.  
> 3) there's only one song included in this chapter and that's "Whore of Babylon", by Eleeza Galilei . I don't know what's up with this song, but it raises goosebumps all over my skin. I don't think the sheer religious note in it is to blame, because, I am not a religious person... so... I guess it's the voice and the expression in it. ( massive music addict here, be careful).  
> 4) at the end of the chapter, I am describing this: http://25.media.tumblr.com/13d27bd60d200a1042ab17951b257204/tumblr_mutyxrN1cx1rt6kpxo1_250.gif as a memory that's triggered by Andrea's similar moves. I tried to kind of like, entwine the two scenes. I don't know if I succeeded. // Just in case someone doesn't know what is that, that's a scene from Thor The Dark World, which MARVEL thought, oh so foolishly, to delete! AH! All this talent, all the attempt to show Loki's character development, was just thrown in the bin! Poof, bam, adios! I wont have it. So, I am pretending like it was in the film all along. Thank you very much.  
> 5) oof, lastly, I wanted to include a picture of what's Andrea's attire for the dance, but I found nothing that matched with how I pictured it in my head and so... sorry, you' re gonna have to imagine it, but oh, please don't let your minds drift to some kind of extreme BDSM catsuit thingy or something. It's actually quite milder than that and covers a lot of skin. 
> 
> Thank you in advance for taking the time to read my atrocities and for leaving comments and kudos! Your support means a lot to me. Again, I sincerely apologize for the mix up and for using only the beginning notes ( from now on), but understand me please, I am scared that the same thing will happen again if I do. I hope you enjoy!!!

The teacher was talking about what the students had, had not and should have included in the essay about The Merry Wives of Windsor, but Andrea was not paying attention. Her mind kept fleeing back to last night. To a dance that had been uncomfortable and embarrassing. To a talk that should have made her nervous and scared but it hadn't. And to a cold shower that should have cooled her down, but hadn't.

Her dancing, just like the previous time, had been shameful and for once again she hadn't been able to honour the deal she had made with the manager. She was absolutely aware that that would soon bring consequences, but she saw no way out. It was simply impossible to do what she had done for two months now. This little exposure, this undoing of a bralette or the shedding of a flannel was something she was now not able to withstand. Not because of the crowd that would so disgustingly smile and cheer, but because he was sitting there. At the front seat table, observing with an expression she couldn't contemplate. It was like he was seeing things beyond what she was doing. Not having a clue what those things were, made her jump into her own conclusions and sometimes she would even entertain the thought that he disapproved of her and the act she was performing.

After replaying the talk with a clearer mind, she had come to the conclusion that he might have been assessing her. His smiles, the extra sultry voice and the penetrating gazes might have been used somehow as baits and traps for her to fall into. Perhaps this had been his way of deciphering her mind, words, motions and gestures, of trying to draw some conclusions or of generally getting to know her. For a couple of minutes she had believed it, that he was truly trying that. But how could she even entertain this possibility? She couldn't trust him and she couldn't trust her own self around him, as the two dances had already proven.

Observe, read and play. That's what he had done and that was the scenario she was going to stick with. At least that was what a merely observant human being would do. She was not sure though what applied to deities of lies, tricks and sin. Oh, and that smile was a sin. If he had smiled like that whilst she was performing, her knees would have grown so weak that she would have fallen on the hard wooden ground, breaking them. It was a miracle how she had managed to reach her apartment without collapsing. She remembered how fast she had walked home and how the rubbing of her thighs had increased the wetness escaping from the confines of her core. She had walked with skin that had caught fire, while the temperature around her had been below 0. _“Until next time little dancer”_ , he had said. His effortlessly sultry voice was echoing in her head even now, when so many hours had passed and a great deal of distance had been created between them.

She had stripped quickly, once inside the safety of her home, and had a cold shower, in hopes that it would cool her down. But it hadn't. She had gone to bed, looking like a mess, but had resisted the urge to deal with the throbbing between her legs. She would not indulge in the feeling while he occupied every space in her head. That would give him even more power over her.

Her teacher clapped his hands loudly and she jumped on her seat, “ Miss Palaiologou, where is your mind travelling to? Concentrate”. He didn't voice it as a scolding or a reprimand, he just brought her back to attention, Andrea knew that, but she really hated when her name was being called in public so loudly.

She apologized, but before the teacher began to talk again, Katherine, from some seats afar added with a sardonic smile, “ Perhaps she is thinking about naughty things she did last night with people that she shouldn't be with”, and she made damn sure that every single person in the lecture room heard the remark.

Andrea lowered her head and blushed in complete embarrassment. Her palms sweated like the humid walls of a cave and her heart pounded loudly in her chest. She hoped that her current state did not confirm as truth what had been said. As the teacher reprimanded Katherine on her comment, Andrea took a look around the room nervously to check for reactions, “ This is a lecture room, not the cafeteria miss Anderson. If you wish to gossip, please leave my class”. The tone in his voice made Katherine shut up, but neither that nor the teacher's attempt at restoring order helped Andrea calm down.

Anger had started to boil now inside her and she decided then and there that after the lecture she was going to face Katherine and ask her what the fuck that incendiary remark was about. . She had been accused of something that was partly untrue. She should talk about it, rather that let it slide. She wasn't one to take matters like these lightly. But for now, she had to swallow down every lump in her throat and every strong emotion and concentrate on what the teacher was saying.

 

***

 

She found Katherine in the hallway and approached with caution. Even with some metres separating them the redhead looked fidgety and somewhat irritated.

“Katherine?”, she called and saw the girl's head snap towards her.

“What do you want?”, she asked rolling her eyes.

“I want to know what was that comment about, back in class?”, she answered calmly, well as calmly as she could.

“You mean you don't know?”, she chuckled nastily. Andrea raised her eye brows at the sound of it.

“Obviously I don't. Look, whatever I did to you, I'm sorry, but I just want to know-”.

“You' re unbelievable”, the girl scoffed interrupting her, “Playing innocent when in truth...”, she leaned forward, “... you're nothing but a filthy whore”, she spat.

Andrea's blood ran cold at the sound of that last word. She wanted to fight back, call Katherine something as well, but all she managed to say was, “ I... don't understand...”.

All the people in the hallway had now turned their heads to look at them.

“ Well, I don't know how to say it in your language darling, but hear this and make sure you understand it!”, she barked and leaned a bit forward again and although Andrea almost towered over the other girl, she took a step back, “Stay away from Sam, or else, I' ll make sure the whole damn campus finds out how you wiggled your slutty hips and tempted him away from me”, and with that, she turned around, her red hair swaying like wild fire, and left.

Andrea let out the breath she did not know she was holding for those two horrible minutes, because truly that was how long the conversation had lasted and tried to follow her usual routine for the rest of the day. As she exited the building, many pairs of curious eyes turned to look at her, but she just kept walking, ignoring them.

Three months. She was here for three months and had already made someone hate her and for completely stupid reasons. Perhaps coffee would ease her pending anger directed at both herself and that stupid girl.

 

***

 

Loki was heading towards Three Cinnamon Sticks, contemplating last night' s events. He had approached her as delicately as his nature would allow, making sure to not provoke with his words, only unsettle a bit. Originally, he hadn't planned to talk to her, for it was too soon. But he had thought that perhaps realising that there was someone who wished to simply talk, instead of snatch and fuck, would be of importance to her, especially inside a whorehouse.

Thus, last night, he had discovered that she actually had a voice. A voice that took him by surprise. He had expected the sweet and sugary sound of a forest wisp, like the ones in Scottish fairy tails, but instead he had heard the vibrating and slightly hissing sound of a scared feline. He was certain that should she spoke louder and with more confidence, her voice would resemble the feral roaring of a panther. He was more than intrigued by the idea that she could be hiding a beast inside her, but he also appreciated her efforts at hiding it and keeping a low profile. He didn't like boisterous people.

He considered all this while his nostrils were being attacked by the almost seductive scent of black coffee. Today, he would get his cup, line or no line. Reaching the coffee shop, he made to open the glass door, but a little, all too familiar, flower opened it for him in a hurry and almost bumped into his chest. She halted abruptly mere centimetres away, coffe cup almost escaping her hold.

“Exc-”, she started saying, but when she turned her head upwards to look at him, the words got stuck in her throat. Loki observed how her eyes widened, almost as if she had seen a ghost, and how her breath seized.

As he was about to ask her if she was alright, she turned on her heel and started walking fast in the opposite direction.

He was left with his mouth agape and a question mark painted in bright colours across his entire face. A voice, perhaps his conscious, which he tried to ignore when it made an appearance, whispered to him. _Follow her_. Everything happened so fast, both in reality and in his mind, and although it was so unlike him to care this deeply for strangers, he did as he was told.

He made himself invisible, in case she turned to look behind her shoulder. He did not want his presence to distort her honest and natural reaction to whatever was happening or was about to happen. He knew it was not right. Following her. Midgardians used the term, “stalking”, to describe what he was doing. He could not resist though. Something beyond his power pulled him towards her and forced one foot to go in front of the other.

She suddenly turned on a narrow dead-end alley and he did the same. Why had she stopped? She placed her coffee cup on the lid of a dumpster and rested her hands on her knees. Loki thought that it was normal, since she had been practically running before. She had to catch her breath.

But then her face contorted, lips stretching wide to reveal gritted white teeth, eyes firmly shut and thick brows above them connected into a bow. Her breath was now coming out shaky and harsh and when she opened her eyes again, Loki saw that they were slightly reddened and that salty tears threatened to spill from the corners.

Almost as quickly as she had stopped, she straightened her back, sniffed, wiped the underside of her eyes with her sleeves, picked up the coffee and continued walking with the same fast pace.

 _What happened to you?_ , he thought as he followed swiftly, the inkling that he was somehow to blame for her behaviour nudging at him annoyngly, like an itch he couldn't scratch.

They reached a tall, white building which housed many apartments, freshly refurnished by the look of it, but extremely plain in comparison to the old houses and establishments all around Edinburgh.

She took her keys out of her bag, unlocked and hurried inside, shutting the door behind her with vigour, as if she wanted to bring down the whole building.

He wanted more than anything to teleport inside, find where she lived and understand what was going on. But he was aware that, even though invisible, entering her home would mean invading her privacy. He was raised to respect other peoples' personal space, partly because he knew how much he valued his own and partly because he had manners. So he decided against the act, but made a mental note of her address and the road they had taken in order to get here.

Suddenly his appetite for coffee was lost. All he wanted to do was go back to the penthouse, sit down and stare at the wall, until it was time to see her again. There was an emptiness, a hollowness filling him, and he had this sickening feeling in his stomach that she was breaking down, all alone up there, and he was down here, trying to be polite and a gentleman. He kept telling himself that they did not know each other, which was true. How can you comfort someone you don't know?

After landing on Earth with Thor and a bunch of Asgardians in that gigantic spaceship, he had decided to change. To keep away from old rude, brutish or standoffish ways and thoughts of inadequacy. In truth, he was just avoiding being himself.

He was living in Edinburgh for two years now and if one was to overlook the little incident at that whorehouse, “D for Desire”, he had caused no trouble to anyone. He was living amongst Midgardians like a shadow, a ghost of his former glorious self. And he was also struggling to keep his promise to Thor that he would behave, and being true to his word meant the world to him. It was a way of proving himself worthy of his brother's respect.

In the past, he had used his wisdom and cunning to trick, betray and gain the upper hand. None of it mattered now. None of it had mattered then, as he had come to realise. These were and were still his resolutions.

And yet, as of recently, a question kept toying with his mind and rejuvenated the mischief inside him little by little. What if what they both needed, both he and her, was for him to return to those ways? To the days when he did not hesitate doing what he instinctively thought right, what was necessary to achieve a goal or get his hands on something he really wanted.

 

***

 

Andrea entered the club at 23:00 sharp, feeling indescribably under the weather. What happened today at the University had been horrible and truly unfair. She had thought of it all afternoon, believing that if she exhausted herself with going over it again and again, it would eventually stop having any meaning. But it wasn't just that incident that had caused such strong emotions. If she wanted to be honest with herself it was the fact that she had bumped into Loki so soon after being called something that she did not want to be.

The shock of seeing him on the street, in such casual, but effortless manner and her being so upset and angry and looking like a mess was enough to heighten her already foul mood.

He stood in front of her, outside the coffee shop she visited every day, looking so dapper and unconcerned and dressed in clothes that smelled of leather and musk, although he was not wearing his armour, just mere human clothes. He also smelled of something else, something that alternated between fresh and ancient, like mint and books emulsified. There was no better way to describe it. She particularly liked the black long coat with its turned up neck. It made his figure look slim, but intimidating in a way that did not scare you, but instead lured you in. Before she even knew that she was thinking it, her mind had wondered off to images of how he must look like underneath all these clothes.

These thoughts, combined with the horrible word Katherine had uttered, had frustrated he so much that she had bolted off and almost cried in a freaking alley.

As she had been letting the remains of her strong facade to break for a minute, she sensed him all around her. Like she had the previous night, inside the club. He was not physically there, but his essence was present. She did not even know if it was possible to feel him like that or if she was going crazy. For a moment, it was as if his wonderful smell had followed her to that alley, filling her nostrils with fresh leathery odours and that was what had given her the strength to stand up and go home. That strong scent had rejuvenated her somehow.

Once inside her apartment, she tried to summon back the tears, but she couldn't. Afraid that they might come back unexpectedly she had busied herself with studying for tomorrow's class and arranging the notes she had taken today from a lecture, concerning Jane Austen's view of feminism. Doing all that had strangely calmed her down.

She shook her head slightly to clear her mind from these thoughts and focused on an overly excited Grace coming towards her, drink in hand and all smiles, “Little V, come, come, sit with us for a moment”, she suggested. Apparently many customers had already arrived, but they were in no need of Grace or the other girls for now. She smiled at the woman, silently accepting the invitation and walked towards the bar where the others were sitting, drinking cocktails.

“Hi”, she said to Susan and Eva. She noticed that Lizzy was there too and upon seeing her, Andrea remembered suddenly what the girl had told her last night. Loki had been asking questions about her, in a nonchalant way, as Lizzy had put it. She had completely forgotten about that fact, but Lizzy, probably reading her expression, did not fail to remind her.

“So, how does it feel to be famous?”, she said, gifting Andrea with a sly smile.

“What?”, Andrea pretended ignorance, although she knew exactly where this was going.

“Oh, come now”, Lizzy drew a sharp breath in and continued, “ He's intrigued by you, can't you see? Or does your innocence extend in your mind as well?”.

Andrea thought that if Lizzy had the slightest idea what was on her mind she would definitely consider what Loki had done to her, vanilla. But instead of stating that, she swallowed the indirect insult and replied sternly, “ Please, stop, I am not in the mood for games”, and Susan patted her back.

“Did something happen darling?”, she asked concerned.

Andrea hesitated for a moment, but then she thought that nothing horrible would happen if she shared a bit of her life with the girls and so said in a low tone, “ I got into a fight with a girl from Uni. She...accused me...of...I don't know, somehow tempting her boyfriend away from her”, she shrugged her shoulders, making it look like it wasn't a big deal.

“So, she called you a whore”, Lizzy exclaimed forcing Andrea's head to snap at her direction in horror. Her heart gave a loud pump, a warning of the anger that would soon start to boil in her chest. The other three girls also looked at the woman somewhat angrily. They too knew that she could not hold her tongue when she decided to be mean to someone.

“Lizzy, that was harsh. Even for you”, Susan said, glaring at her. _Finally, an allay amongst the vipers,_ Andrea thought with derision.

“First of all, do not call me that, it is against the rules, and second... why harsh? She's as much of a whore as the rest of us here”, she retorted with mirth coating her voice.

“I only dance”, Andrea said through gritted teeth. This was one last attempt at defending her pride.

“You wont be doing just that as soon as you take a look at that God's cock”, she chuckled making everyone raise their eye brows at the remark. It wasn't like they hadn't heard such vulgar language before. What surprised all of the girls was the fact that it was directed towards poor little Andrea.

“I don't take clients”, she said, staring at Lizzy with eyes that were able to kill.

“ Oh, you will be taking him darling, at some point in the future. Something tells me that when he wants something, he gets it,” she stated and sipped her cocktail, “ Remember, I got denied my orgasms the night before and all for the sake of answering questions about you. I did you a favour, really”, she got up then and adjusted her skirt to a position where her panties would show with no problem.

Andrea got up too, “ I didn't ask you to do that. You could have kept silent and besides, why would you tell him things about me? You could have just lied. So why is this my fault?”, she almost hissed, control slowly slipping away from her grasp.

“You've clearly never being denied an orgasm before. It's painful darling. It's torture”, she emphasized every word, as if Andrea was a child and needed to be talked to in a loud and clear voice in order to understand.

“ Oh, look who's here...”, she then snapped and turned Andrea's chin towards the main door, but Andrea jerked it away and blushed furiously. Her anger was becoming fiercer by the second, but Lizzy wouldn't give her a break.

“It's your dark prince Little V. Why don't you go and talk to him, ha? Do you even know how to speak to men?”, she sneered, unaware that the two of them had already spoken the night before.

Andrea glanced at his direction swiftly and noticed that he was looking towards her, with an expression that she could not characterize.

“Trust me...”, her attention turned back to Lizzy, who was now whispering in her ear, just like the little devil on your shoulder, in cartoons, “ ...one touch of his fingers on your virgin cunt and you' ll be begging to be called his whore”, she concluded, leaving Andrea with a bitter taste in her mouth and a face so red and angry that she could swear blood was pouring out of the skin.

Without talking back to that cheap and stupid woman, she turned around, bag dangling on her side and went backstage, ignoring the protests from the other girls. She slummed the little door, shutting their voices away. As she was walking to her changing room, Tim, the man in charge of the music, called after her.

“Hey, you forgot to tell me what to play tonight”, he said and Andrea, in her fury, picked the first song that popped in her head.

 

***

 

Loki had heard the words exchanged between the two women from the beginning. He had entered the club soon after the little dancer and had seen her sit with the other women at the bar, but nobody had seen him.

Watching them quietly, he had decided to activate his heightened hearing and listen to their conversation. Humans called it eavesdropping, and in a way it was, but he had chosen to ignore that fact. Besides, he had been listening to the heated argument with the intention of learning more about the little dancer, not of gossiping about it later. And upon hearing of his torturous actions inflicted upon that woman, Lizzy, he realised that that too hadn't been right. But in his defence, the little dancer was too shy and too... broken in an unknown way to be approached directly and poked with questions about herself. If denying a needy whore was all he had to do to get information, then he would gladly do it again.

He hadn't been shocked, as well, by the woman's indelicate choice of words. When he had fucked her the night before, she had shown him all too well her true colours, so listening to her utter words such as cock, cunt and whore wasn't something disturbing. But the fact that these words were used to frustrate and shame his little dancer and to assume things about him and his desires, would not be tolerated.

Now sprawled on his personal couch, he considered how best to handle the situation and make sure that something like this never happens again. The heavy breaths around him from the men and the pretences of ecstasy from the women distracted him a lot, but finally he made a decision and beckoned to Lizzy to come to him. He watched as the little harlot walked towards him all excited and eager.

“Hello Mr. Laufeyson. How can I be of service tonight?”, _so wanton. So willing to be fucked_ , Loki observed.

“Please, sit down Lizzy”, he motioned her to sit next to him.

As she sat on the couch, she scolded, “You cannot call me by my real name, you know. It's against the rules”.

“I will call you whatever I want”, Loki replied shutting her up immediately and taking a sip from his whiskey, “Now, my little whore, tell me...why are you so very cruel to people?”, he asked tilting his head to the side.

She looked a bit confused but said nonetheless, “ Not cruel.... just honest...and... very very horny”, and she bit her lip in anticipation. Loki chuckled maliciously at her reply as he thought how she would regret that answer in a moment.

With a twisting of his fingers, the glass he was holding disappeared from his hand and appeared between his legs on the floor. He nodded with his head downwards and said with a wide smile, “Pick it up”. He didn't have to wait long for her to do as she was told.

She dropped to her knees between his legs in a flash, but as soon as she went to take the glass in her hand, Loki vanished it from existence and grabbed a fistful of her hair without warning. She gasped in surprise or perhaps pain, as he didn't really consider adjusting his grip on her head. The woman' s well being was not a concern of his.

He brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, “ I heard what you said earlier, sweet one, and I daresay, I was not very happy about it”.

“What... what are you talking about-”, she cowered but Loki bit hard on her ear lobe and she yelped in pain, “ You're hurting me, please stop....ah”, she pleaded pathetically, something which urged Loki to put more pressure on her head.

“Let me ask you again”, he said, licking at the previously bitten flesh, “ Why are so cruel to people?”.

She touched his forearm weakly in an attempt to lighten his hold on her, but it was futile, “ Are you... do you mean...before, with Little V?”, she stuttered.

“Mmm, slow...but you got it eventually”, he mocked, “ Now, why, a beautiful cunt like you, would be so uncaring and so unkind?”, he continued and tilted her head to meet his eyes.

She tried again to break free, but she only succeeded in falling slightly forward. Loki got hold of her hair again and jerked her head back sharply, “Answer me”, he hissed.

“I was just messing around, I didn't mean- ”, she replied but did not finish, as Loki grabbed her throat forcefully with his other hand and gave a warning squeeze.

“You assumed to know things about me and that poor woman and you think that messing around is good enough excuse for me? Oh little fuck toy, you are gravely mistaken”, he chuckled a twisted chuckle.

“Please...I wont do it again...please, just...let me go-”, she chocked out.

“Let you go so easily? I think perhaps I should take you upstairs and show you what happens to people who assume to know me. And I can promise you... it isn't pleasant”, he gave a really hard squeeze, making sure that his fingers would leave a mark on her throat.

“No, no, please”, she begged soaking his hand with her tears.

“I think I shall be a benevolent God today and spare you the pain”, he considered and he let her go with a jerk resulting to her tumbling backwards. He watched as she pathetically attempted to get up and fell back down, while violent coughs escaped from her wind pipe.

“If you talk to her like that again, I will find you little whore and I' ll make good on my promise”, he stated without mercy.

She nodded and got to her feet once more, this time succeeding in remaining there. She walked away on shaky legs, just as the presenter of the dancing shows was ascending the stage.

Loki sat comfortably on the couch once more and waited with his heart beating like a war drum, as if his previous encounter had never taken place. His little threat had been satisfying in a highly twisted way. Defending someone so precious and pure had made him feel like a better man, even if the way he had chosen to do it proved him the monster everyone thought he was.

“Ladies and fine gentlemen, thank you for your presence here tonight. I promise, you will not be disappointed, because....”, he leaned forward and whispered sneakily to the microphone, as if telling a secret, “ … the little kitten has claws tonight. Perhaps a fellow did her wrong?”, he returned to his previous position and announced loudly, “ Welcome to the stage...Little V, and gentlemen be cautious! She might bite off your private parts tonight”, men around Loki laughed hard at that last comment, but he remained completely silent. He had a bad feeling about this dance and he did not like in the least the presenter' s speech, for obvious reasons. Why did he have to make those stupid speeches to present something so beautiful?

“Little dancer...”, he whispered sadly. _What are you up to?,_ he thought with concern. But he didn't have time to think any further as he heard the clicking of heels from somewhere close.

He identified the sound coming from his left and turning his head to the side, spotted his little dancer, dressed in a black suit that accentuated her strong shoulders and flattered the bend of her waist and her curves perfectly. Underneath, her body was adorned with stripes, although it was dark and he couldn't be sure. She also wore a black hat, similar to the one that actor, Charlie Chaplin, wore, which crowned just right her dark curly locks. Her eye lids were darker than when he had seen them at the underground club, dark like a winter's night. She was standing by the table he had pushed out of the way when he had gotten here, gulping a large glass of, probably, whiskey. _Now you' re being dramatic_ , he thought amused, but all his joking mood disappeared when he saw her setting it down on the table, almost breaking it and the table. Her lips, he noticed, were as pale as a corpse's.

Some other men had spotted her as well and they were either whistling, or whispering secretly to each other. She didn't look at him or them, as she passed in front of his couch. He had almost tasted her scent, a scent that drove him wild and hard. She got to the right side of the stage, where she ascended a few steps. The way she was moving suggested that there would be no nervousness tonight. Only anger and shame.

She stood in front of the pole, with her back to the crowd and her legs a good distance apart. The extremely tall and lean muscle and the tendons and little veins behind her knees, all tense and straight as a wire. She turned her head to the side and he spotted a mean smirk, as if she knew she was being admired closely and didn't like it one bit.

The music started with a low humming thumps and then the singer produced a deep sensual sigh that caught everyone by surprise. She ran her hands on her outer thighs, moved them slowly upwards and gave a teasing squeeze to her arse cheeks and then ascended them even higher, to the point where she was lifting the strict suit, introducing her leather clad body to the hungry crowd who cheered and whistled. While she lifted the suit, Loki noticed a separate leather ribbon wrapped around her left thigh. He inhaled deeply in order to keep calm, as his mind wandered to thoughts of what delightful things he could do to her with that piece of stiff fabric.

Andrea felt the hard leather on her fiery body shift slightly, where she had touched it, and shivered. After all the fights she had gotten into that day, she needed to release the incendiary emotions trapped within her. It wasn't fury now that she felt. It was more like an impatient type of anger. Thus tonight, she had bravely decided to treat the vultures to a little striptease that would certainly make them seek out the attentions' of the nearest whore. Even him. With all his smiles and his control and his vibrating voice. She would drive him wild too. At the thought of that, she slid the hat off her head, turned around and after provocatively rubbing it against the spot between her legs, threw it to the men at the far back of the room. She had no care what whoever caught it would do with it, but she had a few disgusting ideas.

She waited for the second sigh from the singer, because it was a song that required great synchronisation when danced to. The minute she heard it, she ripped the suit open, buttons falling on the wooden floor, showing off her leather strapped core. She began to sink down with open legs and bent knees, getting into a position that made the leather rub harshly against the skin. But she yearned for that kind of pain at the moment. The men cheered and whistled again setting her chest afire. Her insides felt like they were burning in the pits of hell. _Is this what you all want? Here, take it_ , she thought defiantly allowing an evil smile to spread across her face. _“Whore of Babylon, tell me of your turbid waters...ain't that where you're from... purge my sons and brace my daughters...”._ Through the anger , her mind cleared out and now, sitting up, she thrust her hip upwards with each repetition of the doomed town of Babylon.

That thrust took him back to her dance at the underground club. Had that been just last night? He thought centuries had passed since that act of rebellious freedom. He was trapped right there, between those fingers, that now fisted themselves in her messy locks. It aroused him to know that under certain circumstances she was able to unleash a demon from within her, a demon that was able to devour all the shyness.

But that behaviour was as enchanting as it was confusing. He leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees, as if by doing so he would taste her again in the air. _“She rode on beasts with seven heads adorned by horns of ten... and on those horns slept many names, the names akin to men...”._ He heard and tried to force back the smirk that was threatening to grow across his face. _Is that a hint little dancer?_ , he thought shamelessly as she stopped dropping horizontally down the pole. She had almost reached the floor and so she quickly stepped down in order to swing around the metal tube once.

This was a powerful moment. The word “thunder” echoed three agonising times in the room and for all three of them, she bounced and squeezed her body against the pole, probably looking mental. Her breasts hurt from the brutal contact, but again she needed it. She thought about letting the suit fall now, but changed her mind. She wouldn't treat them to her full form just yet. The leather body suit she wore was only good at perfectly concealing her mound and the tender spot between her legs. Its stripes then, criss-crossed upwards on her belly and stomach, same on her back, and ended to a little thicker stripe that covered her nipples, but barely the undersides of her breasts. She felt incredibly sensual and tight in it. Once the voice rose again, she slipped out of her heels and kicked them to the side.

 _“She's clad in velvet graced with things men never chartered...”_. Loki had no idea what invisible force got him on his feet and made him walk towards the edge of the stage. One foot in front of the other he put at the beckoning of her siren hips, until he reached the wooden surface and placed his hands firmly on the edge of it. So close he was to touching her. He felt like an Odysseus, bound with ropes, heading towards a vicious sea creature. His eyes were racking over the sweat soaked skin of her body, but he was aching to meet her eyes.

She dropped to her knees with a thump and leaned back to push the suit off her shoulders, _“ Power for an hour, with the beast and to Gehenna...Purge all these hyenas, all you ugly mother fuckers...”_ , and threw it to the crowd, again not caring who would catch it and what he would do with it. Eyes closed, brows furrowed and mouth agape, as if recovering from an orgasm, she dropped on all fours and spread her legs wider. With her flexibility, it wasn't difficult for her mound to almost scrape the stage. Following the repeated lyric of the song, she languidly sank her core towards the wooden surface, as if she was fucking it and then rolled on her back for the next move. Squeezing her breasts and pretending to kneed them through the leather, she spread her legs in the air and then closed them rapidly. She outstretched her arms then and pinned them down, the force of the move creating great contrast to the way she caressed the pole with her calf.

She faked being exorcised from a demonic entity within her, and so she occasionally pushed her chest upwards. She loved the idea of being possessed by this side of herself, so much so, that deep inside she wished that the song would never end. But it was one verse away from ending. She rolled back on all fours, but before having the chance to perform her last move, she saw him.

Standing at the edge of the stage, was the God of Mischief, staring with eyes full of lust, but perhaps also surprise. Her stomach flattered wildly, similarly to the previous times. She was in the same trance as him, and for those moments the room around them was empty.

The heat wave that washed over her, urged her on crawling towards him like a pet, her shoulders moving like the ones of a feline as her legs made long stretches allowing her to lay on her stomach before him in no time.

His fierce panther was mere inches away from his face. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and his fingers squeezed the wood tighter. The anger that possessed her tonight had turned into seduction, and Loki wasn't even sure if she knew what she was doing.

His eyes followed the hand that reached behind her to unwrap the leather strap on her thigh. She played it in her fingers and for a split second she sized him up with her gaze, evaluating and calculating. She leaned down and carefully tied the strap around his wrist, having made some decision that Loki could not read. All he could feel now was her gaze, penetrating his face like a sharp needle and the leather rubbing against the skin on his wrist.

“ _...and the whore is she who reigns o' er Kings on Earth … she sat on seven hills...my Babylon...my girth..._ ”, they both listened as the song was coming to an end.

 _Is this how you like me?,_ he heard her think suddenly. It was the first time tonight that he had read her clearly. Before, the anger and the frustration were too great to allow coherent thoughts, but now that it had all been washed away with the sweat of her body and the pain of her muscles, he was able to understand the words behind the emotions.

With sadness consuming him, he observed her eyes swim with tears, which were slowly cascading down her cheeks, though the rest of her beautiful face was still and impassive.

The song was now over, but she didn't get up. She stared into his eyes as much as he was staring into hers, both confused, both seeking answers in the green and blue.

Suddenly, she repeated a phrase that had been voiced from another's lips earlier this night. He caught it immediately, yet regretted it tremendously. _Just a touch of his fingers on your virgin cunt and you' ll be begging to be called his whore._

Loki's eyelashes flattered in realisation. He tried to search deeper for more thoughts, but her quivering lip distracted him. He wanted to say something, anything, but there was no time. She had already gotten to her feet and away from him. He wanted to shout after her, but the words got stuck in his throat.

“You keep running away...”, he mumbled after a few moments., the next dancer now ascending the stage.

 

***

 

Andrea couldn't bear to see him again, so she left from the club's back door , but Loki was already on to her. This time he would follow her to where she lived and into her apartment to make sure that she was safe and as alright as possible. This time, to hell with invading one's private space. He had to do something, even, if this new need confused him, even if it was all developing too fast.

She stepped into the big white building and he hurried after her before the door closed. They climbed, or better, ran up the stairs when they finally reached her floor. She lived in the number 102. She unlocked the door and Loki hurried inside again before she closed it firmly and locked it with shaky fingers.

Looking around the place, he noted that is was quite small, but he made nothing of it. She was only one person, so this space was adequate. He himself could have never imagined living in such a tiny box. Not after-.

His trail of thought was interrupted by the thump her bag made on the floor. She took off coat and shoes and let them fall on the same hard surface. She got rid of her cream brown pullover and was now left with her leather pants and a black under shirt to keep away the cold. She rolled up her sleeves and moved tiredly, aimlessly here and there on the available space.

He thought that she would go to sleep, but instead she collapsed on the rag just at the front of the bed and buried her head between open legs. She started sobbing and then graduated to weeping, her shoulders jerking up and down violently, and all Loki could do was stand and watch her break down. Images of himself, dropping the spell that made him invisible, bending down next to her, wrapping his arms around her, rocking her back and forth, flooded his mind, but he knew he couldn't act on them. She would scream in fear and confusion, because a stranger was in her house. She would take the invasion as something hostile and she would have every right to.

With his brows forming a distressed bow and his teeth gritted, he finally decided that a relaxation spell would be able to put her down into a peaceful slumber. He was not able to withstand the intense writhing nor the little whining sounds that escaped desperately from her mouth. It felt as if a cold hand was shoving itself down his throat, reaching deeper and deeper and tearing his heart into shards of frozen flesh. Her cries pained him and he would rather cut off his ears than listen to them any longer.

He made a step towards her still writhing figure, but before he could utter the incantation, she snapped her head upwards and became him in a matter of seconds.

His jaw tightened and his eyes widened in shock, as her fingers curled and tensed into trembling spider legs. Lethal like scorpion tails, dripping with poison meant for enemies, not for one's own self. The rage. These were the workings of their rage. He was now collapsing against the white wall of the cell, dishevelled, weak and small, while she gathered enough air in her lungs. Frigga was dead and they were both pulling their lips backwards, their faces contorting monstrously, their shoulders and backs tensing up and taking a haunching position. She exhaled and he did the same. She in her house, him in his cell. He expected her scream. The only person he loved was dead. Her scream never came, but he replaced it, in his mind, with his own. Every vein and every tendon on their stretched neck, forearms and hands was tight and ready to pop out of the skin. She screamed soundlessly for five painful seconds, while he heard his pain's echo all around him and then she slumped back at the foot of the bed, exhausted and expressionless, just as he let his body go limb against the hard wall. _Did she suffer?,_ he asked dipped in regret, looking at his brother expectantly, while the little dancer stared into the void.

It took Loki one whole minute to snap out of the horrid memories of loss. They were the same for a moment or two. Same bodies, same nerves, same lungs, same rage, same scream, same shame. His eyes hadn't moved from her figure, but were just now coming back into focus.

He pushed himself to take a step. He dropped to his knees beside her and brought his lips to her ear. He whispered the words and her eyes immediately flattered closed. Her head dropped backwards and her whole body started falling weightless to the side. Loki caught her by the shoulders before she collapsed completely, and lifted her in his arms with ease. One firm hand on her back and one under her knees.

For a moment he stayed like that. On his feet with her in his arms. He let the warmth of their proximity consume him and allowed the feel of her weight to tattoo itself onto his body. Her head rested against his chest, her features blackened, by the now dripping cosmetics, but she still looked beautiful and so peaceful. With every breath she exhaled, she spread a warm tingling on the skin under his shirt, making his heart swell with emotions for which, he had no name. _It' s too much_ , was all he could think.

He placed her gently on the bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders and then lightly pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

It took everything in his power to turn his gaze away and teleport back to the penthouse.

Once there, he took off his coat and started pacing up and down the living room like a maniac, rubbing his mouth and jaw angrily.

He wanted her to be a fuck toy. He wanted her to be something that he could use and then throw away. Something plainly disposable. But she wasn't. And he would die before he treated her like so.

She was something else... Something that demanded his respect, his attention and his help and perhaps, she might even be worthy of the one emotion he would never admit he felt. But how? How to approach her without scaring her off? This was the third day he was seeing her, just the third.

“Fuck...”, he hissed and his seidr escaped from his fingers, turning all the furniture upside down. But that didn't calm him down. _She screamed..._ , he thought in desperation. _How? How very similar..._

He spent the remainder of the night kicking coffee tables and kitchen equipment around the penthouse, taking down the curtains and shredding them until they were ribbons. He produced his knives and used them to either slice up the mattress or to throw them on the walls, leaving big openings and cracks on the stone.

All this destruction for a strange dancing flower. And when he was sated, one glance at the leather strap around his wrist, got him to think that he had taken everything around him apart, because he couldn't piece himself together.

 


	4. coffee, Marlowe, cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the continuation of this story, Loki comes to realize that, sometimes, in order to get what you want, you must be willing to let your stoic, impassive mask drop and just be yourself, while Andrea will come to terms with the fact that there's no escape from him anymore. And do not delude yourselves, escape she can easily find, but does she really want to get away from him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! Well, at least it's morning here. How are you all fairing? I, personally, am not fairing very well. I think I am coming down with something or... getting over it, but in an excruciatingly slow pace, I am not sure. It's Thursday, so voila, your promised chapter is here and may I just say that chapter 4 is one of my favourites. I got the biggest, fluffiest, most colourful butterflies while writing and editing it. I hope you find it satisfying!  
> 1) Let's start with a few warnings. For this chapter we have strong language, a bit of a dramatic situation (thankfully, not the High School Musical kind of drama and it doesn't include Loki so it is not weird and doesn't look unnatural), fluff and ... sexy fluff and lastly masturbation, very very needy masturbation.  
> 2) The song you' ll come across in this chapter is "Cherry", by the lovely Lana Del Rey. I have a general Lana Del Rey kink, I am trying to keep it under control, bear with me.  
> 3) Some foreign language lessons for you now.  
> *ancora anche d'altri mondi, i raggazzi sono sempre stessi ( Italian) = even from other worlds, young men are always the same (translation)  
> *oh mio dio (Italian) = oh my god (traslation)  
> 4) Now, just a general note, it's actually a thought I've had last night and thought it would be quite informative for you so allow me to share. It is true that I could only focus on the dynamics between my original character and Loki and surely in this way, things would develop much much quicker between them but... I believe that it is more creative and defining, in a way, to sort of explore the mundane world around them and record both of their reactions to it, because, their experiences from the outside shape them as characters and give them motives. Especially Loki, I think. That is why I am making both characters do completely mundane things. That is why I have gone so far so at to create wardrobes for them. Talking about Andrea's financial situation in depth or placing Loki in a coffee shop ( a place where he is completely out of his element) is a way of creating their little worlds. It would be... boring to simply explore them in a secluded environment where they would have no interaction with other humans. I hope you get my point since I am terrible at describing things. Thank god that I am writing all these, imagine if I had to orally explain it (lol), that would be funny.  
> 5) And lastly some images for you, because I depend a lot on images to inspire me and help me get the message across.  
> Get an idea of the coffee shop's interior design: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/03/99/46/039946d3198a55f52251239d8e2675c4.jpg  
> And, when Andrea describes Loki's face as he reads, this is the gif I took inspiration from:  
> http://mishasteaparty.tumblr.com/post/75619418918  
> And take a look at Andrea's rich choice of lingerie:  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/24/2f/4c/242f4c7a4ebdd151b18d7d3e29bab160.jpg ( when you click "go to link" it actually downloads the picture for some reason, so just see the pic and then delete it, it's not important). 
> 
> In the future I will try to tailor the text in a way that it fits images as well. I don't know if you would like that best. I mean, what is your opinion. Do you prefer I give you the links to the images here in the notes section or copy paste them in the text? Give me your views! 
> 
> Thank you in advance for reading and for... following this trash that I am writing. Thank you so much!!

Seated at the edge of the torn bed, still dressed in last night's clothes, barefoot and dishevelled from head to toe, Loki had been for most of the night, He stared intensely at the leather strap around his wrist thinking about everything and nothing, all at once. Small, greenish bags had developed under his eyes from the lack of rest and the dried blood on his knuckles was painful to scratch off yet this pain grounded him. The little splits and cuts from kicking and punching at the furniture had healed pretty quickly though.

He briefly thought about where would his coat be buried in the penthouse. Would it be under the pile of wood that used to be the coffee table, or tangled between the ribbons of curtains? He scoffed. He wouldn't look for it anytime soon. He was too tired and too deep in thought to even consider the possibility of getting up, much less engage in the tiring task of finding things.

He kept going back to the incident in her apartment and to her dance before it. He had no desire to, because it pained him, but he couldn't resist. He thought that if he played the night over and over again in his head he would eventually reach a conclusion or decide on how to proceed with her. But everything felt numb and distant and due to his restlessness, his mind kept playing tricks at him.

The only thing that was solid and stable was that strap. That leather strap, which had been given to him in a moment of undeniable madness, oh that mischief in her eye and all the leather and her scent, all drove him insane. _Fuck, what have you done to me?_ , he thought as he rubbed his eyes with the insides of his wrists. As he did so, he caught a faint undertone of her smell on the leather strap and bringing it to his nose, he inhaled deeply.

When she gave it to him he had felt like a young warrior who had been blessed with a piece of his sweetheart. He would ride his horse, kill, destroy, trick and double cross everyone, every enemy who stood in his path all the while knowing that he was in his little dancer's prayers. Had this been a small offering? A token, perhaps, of her trust? Her favour? A piece of herself that was too large to fit inside and so she gave it to him to keep safe? Maybe. If it was, then safe he would keep it and he would cherish it, unless she asked it back.

When they had locked eyes, after the song had ended, he had managed to connect their minds. It was easy, since she was so close to him and since her eyes served as his portal. He had found nothing, but an emotional turmoil. Anger, fury, confusion, worry, understanding, pain, pleasure. All emulsified together to produce nothing but chaos and to provoke tears.

With those blunt words that were both right and wrong, echoing in her head, he had felt how abruptly she had gained back her control, both of her mind and body. The shame was returning, the rationality too. And he had simply blinked at the force of her emotions. Blinked. While he could have grabbed her arm and told her to wait. While he could have called after her, force her to stay for a bit and let him explain the many possibilities held in that raw phrase. But he just blinked and let her escape.

Now he was at a loss and it was his fault. He could have learned something, anything yesterday, but he had let the opportunity slip. Usually, she spoke to him loud and clear through her dancing. Her moves were representing emotions, feelings, thoughts. Yet last night, when he thought that he had figured one thing out, something happened and it was all changed again. Like a code he couldn't crack. Like a magical puzzle that one should solve in a specific amount of time, otherwise the pieces would mix again and he would have to start all over. What had, for two nights straight, been his means of interpretation, was now something that created chaos in his own mind.

The door made a screeching sound and he snapped his attention towards it, gathering some magic in his hand to attack with if necessary. But it was only Mrs Granzioni, with her usual big purse and long red coat who walked in, humming something incoherent. She locked behind her and when she turned Loki heard her gasp violently. Her left hand clutched at the handle of the bag tighter, while the other rested above her heart, as if she was trying to hold it in place. She spotted him and her eyes went wide with shock at the sight.

Loki didn't give her much attention. As soon as he had realised that it was her, he had gone back to staring at his strap with coldness in his eyes, and he would have continued to do so if the old woman hadn't spoken.

“What... what happened in here?”, she mumbled, her voice a bit shaky, “Did something... did someone break in?”, she began looking around nervously, but then remembered, “No... the door is not...”, but she didn't finish.

She dropped her bag beside the pile of wood, the former coffee table, and walked slowly towards the edge of the bed, where Loki was sitting.

“My darling boy, are you alright?”, she asked concerned. Loki glanced up at her, surprised by the sentiment she was exhibiting. She was usually lovely with all her snide remarks and quick wit. Always had to have the last word, yet now, she sounded like a terrified mother.

Loki cleared his throat to speak, but thought that firstly he should fix this mess. He felt terrible now that he had ruined this space, which had been kindly rented to him by this lovely old woman, without hesitation or prejudice, nearly two years ago.

He pictured the previous neat and clean state of the apartment, pushing his magic out. Loads of green and gold energy erupted from his fingertips and flew towards everything broken or shredded.

The destroyed coffee table began to reconstruct itself and the cement was replaced in the cracks on the walls and the bricks that had been turned into powder from the force of his knives were turning solid again. The curtains stitched themselves back together and covered the windows, shutting all the morning light out. The bed, as well as the mattress, started to regain their former structure. The kitchen made the most noise, due to all the metallic machines, the china, the silverware and the larger appliances being restored to their initial forms and shapes and being positioned back to their rightful places.

Mrs Granzioni marvelled at the green and gold that surrounded absolutely everything around her. Loki knew how she loved it when he did magic and that thought, no matter how innocent or even stupid, brought a half smile on his face.

After the mess had been cleared, he opened one of his palms, for Mrs Granzioni to look at and produced a red rose for her, as a way of apologizing. The woman took it, staring at it in awe and smelled it before turning her gaze back to him.

He got up then, not wanting to meet her questioning eyes, wishing to avoid the shame and while pacing lazily towards the bathroom, which he hadn't wrecked at all last night, he murmured in a husky voice, “ No one broke in”.

Before he passed through the door though, Mrs Granzioni asked calmly, “What happened to you?”. Her still neutral mood caught him by surprise again, as he had expected her to be mad at him. He had ruined after all, the place she was renting him. Anger would be the natural reaction.

He put his hands into weak fists and shook his head, “ Forgive me, but I do not wish to talk about it”. This situation he wanted to keep to himself. Telling his housekeeper wouldn't offer anything.

As if reading his mind, Mrs Granzioni scoffed, “ Oh, I forgive you. But I really think that you should”, she commented and got up. Loki heard her footsteps moving towards the kitchen, probably to prepare breakfast and get ready for her later interrogation.

He took it as a sign that for now he was released from her inquisitive character and went into the bathroom without bothering to close the door behind him. He stripped lazily and got into the shower to get rid of his burdens.

He let the water purge his skin with its delicious scorching sensation. He took his time letting it burn every inch of him. Being half frost giant meant that he lacked extreme amounts of warmth within his body, so every minute he spent in the bathtub or in the shower under high temperatures made him feel sort of complete.

As he massaged this shower gel he liked into his chest and neck, he kept shifting around so that the water ran through everywhere. Through his hair, down the expanse of his back and the curve of his arse cheeks and to his legs too. Down his shoulders and around his ribs. He almost growled when it hit the back of his neck and the beginning of his spine. Apparently he had been sitting in the same haunching position longer than he had thought. The stiffness there was immense, but the hot water created scorching pins and needles at those two spots, gradually numbing them and bringing them back to normal.

He dropped his head forwards, resting it on one of the shower wall and his eyes flattered shut involuntarily. If he wasn't careful he could sleep in here, but right now it didn't matter. He let out a shaky breath and dreamed of her.

In his mind, he saw her stark naked, wonderfully exposed, in the shower with him. Her face and breasts were flashed from the heat of the water and her hair was straight because of it and touched the shoulders teasingly. Both of them were, shockingly, about the same height thus it was easy, when she approached him, to rest her chin on the crook of his neck, especially now that his shoulders were limp and his head lowered. Her arms came around him to tenderly caress his sides, his ribs, his waist, his stomach... He pictured her all over him. One hand ascended to his chest, where his heart was, and he cupped it with his own wanting to keep it there forever. Breathing deeply, he felt her weight upon his back. Skin against skin, the hot water melting and blending them together...

 _What have you done to me_?, he wondered again as he turned off the water and exited the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to the bedroom in search of clothing. He felt like wearing all black today, so he picked out black jeans, black cashmere sweater and a belt.

Still drying his hair with the towel, he moved over to the kitchen to put something in his stomach.

Mrs Granzioni had finished cooking and having already set up the table she had moved on to washing some puns, pots and a sort of device that, to his knowledge, liquefied all foods. He sat down, but as he stared at the plate in front of him, he realised that something prevented him from touching it.

There was a throb at the base of his throat that he needed to get rid of first, before he could move on swallowing anything else. Perhaps... he wanted to talk, and remembering how Mrs Granzioni had urged him to, he allowed his mind to merely toy with the idea.

“ There's a woman...”, the words were out of his mouth before he even knew it.

Mrs Granzioni chuckled, surprising him, “ Ah, isn't there always?”.

He gave her a half smile, admiring her ability to bring humour into this miserable situation.

“What's her name?”, she asked, abandoning her washing and coming to take a seat at the table. She poured some coffee and blew in it to cool it off, looking at him with expectation painted all over her features.

“I don't know”, Loki disappointed.

She chuckled again and set her coffee down, “ And here I thought that the God of Mischief knew everything there is to know”.

He smiled bitterly. He wanted to throw back some sneaky remark, but he was too numb to think.

“Where did you meet her?”.

Well, that answer he knew, “ At a new...”, he chose a more careful word, “... men's club... a long distance from here”.

“Is she-”.

“No”, Loki said abruptly cutting her off. He did not wish to hear it, even if it was going to be phrased more delicately. Prostitutes, instead of whores, Mrs Granzioni called them. _Midgardians and their many terms for the same thing. Why is one an insult and the other the proper way to say it?,_ he always thought whenever she corrected him on his choice of words.

“No, she is not”, he repeated reassuringly, “She is only a dancer and I think she serves drinks sometimes. I have been in that place only three times”, he concluded and waited for the old woman to react.

“Three times only? Have you-”, she started asking but Loki cut her off once more, already knowing the question.

“I haven't touched her”, he said sternly, “It's not that I don't want to, it's only I...I...can't ...it's-”, he lost his trail of thought, but Mrs Granzioni was quick to fill in the blanks.

“It's somehow different this time, isn't it?”, she gave him a warm smile, a smile that reminded Loki of his mother. He nodded in agreement.

“I have tried to approach her... talk to her... but the one time I did, she was nervous... distant. And she is coy and... all by herself and awfully young to be working at a place like that”, he ran a hand through his hair to brush it away from his face and continued, “ I' m trying to figure her out Mrs Granzioni, put the pieces together... but, every time I get close everything falls apart. There is always a detail that I' m missing”, he leaned forward and started to sip his coffee.

“People are not for you to solve, my darling boy. We humans are far too complicated to be interpreted in three days time, because, be honest with yourself now, that is just how long you've known her and it's hardly enough time, if you want my opinion”, she reached out and squeezed the hand he had set on the table, supportingly.

 _It feels longer than that_ , he thought before she asked, “ You said that she is awfully young. How young?”.

“Nineteen, perhaps twenty”, he replied exhaling loudly, finally starting to feel a little less full. The throb in his throat had started to give way.

“Oh mio dio...”, she whispered in her native language, “ Listen to me. I was born and grew up in Italy, alright? Girls who work in places like these from... from such a young age, never end up well. The ones that run these places are bad men my boy, bad men”, she told him with an expression of fear and distress spread across her elderly features. 

He only nodded at the information. He was not a fool. He knew exactly just in how much danger the little dancer was in. In this short period of visiting Valhalla, he had seen her being groped at, insulted, shout at, forced to strip for the pleasure of animals and endure their drunken talk and whistling while she danced with barely any clothes on. In a few months, who knew what else she would be subjected to...

“I want to get her out of that place...”, he stated with his eyes fixated upon the leather strap around his wrist.

“ And how are you going to do that? You are, quite literally, an alien to her. She might even be afraid of you”, Mrs Granzioni spoke the truth, although it pained him to hear it.

“Then how do I at least approach her?”, he said impatiently, “ Clearly, last time I did, it did not work out so well”.

A high pitched laugh escaped the woman's lips.

“Is my misery a joke to you?”, he said somewhat pissed.

“No... it's not”, she answered between giggles, “ But your so-called helplessness is. Oh, ancora anche d'altri mondi, i raggazzi sono sempre stessi”, she cajoled.

“There are no men like me, you know that very well, Mrs Granzioni. Tell me what is your meaning. This conversation has started to bore me”, he said getting up, staring at her, expecting some sort of explanation.

“My meaning is...”, she started calmly, getting up too, “...sit down. Eat. Put on your that devil smile that makes the ladies faint. And then go out and find this young woman. Talk to her when she's not half naked and eyed by hundreds of men. If you think that she is different than all the others you've known, you ought to give her your truth and make her feel safe”, and with that, she turned around and went back to her kitchen. She grabbed her pot and started to clean it again before placing it in the dish washer, “And do me a favour, please. If you truly feel anything about this girl, return to who you used to be. Stop the drinking and the whoring around and the lonely night walks like you're some owl. You might be surprised by her reaction to the real you”, she concluded and dried her hands with the towel by the sink.

 

***

 

Andrea opened her eyelids slowly with a deep breath and was met with a completely dark room. The curtains were pulled shut and she could spot almost nothing around her, except for the bigger furniture, which too looked more like big black masses rather than her actual dresser, mirror and desk.

The alarm hadn't gone off, because it was Thursday and on Thursdays she didn't have any classes. It was a free day, which she had decided a month ago to spend productively. She went to her favourite coffee shop, neatly dressed and in a good mood to study and do essays accompanied by the lovely smell of smashed coffee beans. This was her ritual, what the bloggers and instagramers and youtubers called “me time”, only hers included actual work. She didn't mind it one bit. In contrast to the other students who, for reasons unknown to her, were kind of lukewarm about it, Andrea loved her course and she always found something useful and interesting in the homework given, even if the novel, poem or play they were currently analysing was boring.

She sat up on the bed and stretched her arms, but when she dropped them down to her lap, she noticed that she was under blankets she didn't remember covering herself with last night. As a matter of fact, she didn't even remember getting into bed. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and mentally tried to retrace her steps, but it didn't work, as the memories of her distress, her rage and confusion flooded her mind. She had collapsed and she had cried and she had soundlessly screamed, all those being activities she indulged in more often than not. Apart from the screaming. She kept that only for special occasions, just like last night, when the rage was too great to trap within her and forget.

Its origins had of course being her foolishness. The previous day had been one of accusations and rush decisions that had resulted in her doing something that she could not take back. Not the dance. The dance had merely been her way of channelling her emotions and expressing her inner world to men who only thought with their cocks and it had also been a little rebellion against people who had pushed her into thinking foully of herself. And now that it was done, she truly felt better and in a sense, liberated from unnecessary labels.

Yet what she had done after, had crashed her and exposed her greatly. She could pretend all she wanted that the tying of the leather strap was an act caused by the adrenaline rush, but it would be a lie. She had done it because at that moment, she thought of no one but him and realising that she had his attention, she had been curious about what would happen if she took a step out of her comfort zone. _Oh, so foolish_ , she thought shaking her head.

For a couple of minutes, she had felt the bravest she had ever been, consumed by both courage and fury up on that stage. He was left with lips parted and a pleasantly shocked expression all over his dark features. She felt as if she had made him proud in a way, in a very sick way, and in that feeling she revelled for a bit. But then, Lizzy' s words came back to haunt her, echoing in her head like a filthy promise and she had only then realised how provocative and foolish that little act was. Did she really think that she could get away that easily after tying a leather strap around the God of Mischief's wrist? What if he interpreted it as a sign of availability? Or as a sign that she was choosing him for something? How had she even got his attention in the first place? How did she keep it for so long, to the point where she practically lured him at the edge of the stage?

She huffed in frustration and went to the bathroom. One look at her blackened face in the mirror had her gasping in shock. No wonder her eyes were itchy. She quickly took some make up remover and started to wipe away the stains of the cosmetics all over her cheeks and chin. As she did that, she considered her situation carefully.

What had happened last night was now in the past and there it would stay. Dwelling back on it would only result in constant alertness and false assumptions. She decided that she would refuse stressing over it. She had enough anxiety in her life, what with Uni and all her stage fright every night, and she definitely did not need the stress from a God's attentions.

She splashed some water on her face. She did masks and applied moisturisers to cure the irritability on her skin. She covered the dark circles under her eyes with some concealer, filled her brows and carefully applied some non colour gloss, nothing too fancy, just a dab on the bottom lip. Taking a final look in the mirror and pleased with the result, she told herself that whatever happened from now on she would deal with it when it appeared and not before. She was here, in Edinburgh, in this beautiful medieval like city, making her dream come true, with no ones help. University should be the only thing to worry about. Money should worry her too, but her nightly dances covered for that. And that was it. All the worry and the stress over a man, who come tomorrow, would forget about her was a waste of time. All the awfulness had died with last night's scream, and that's how it would stay, but then again, why did her clothes smell like him when she took them off?

After her long and delightful shower, she dressed in skinny black jeans, black turtle neck and black leather booties with an almost flat, thick and stable heel that would certainly be heard clicking upon the stony side walks of Edinburgh. Good. It would serve as a means of intimidation.

As she was packing all the things she would need for today' s studying, such as her trusted notebook, pencils, textbooks, The Merry Wives, in her dark green backpack, her phone rang. When she saw that it was the manager from the men's club her heart skipped a beat. She picked up quickly hoping that it wasn't about last night.

“Good morning”, she said politely, praying not to be met with anger.

“ 'Morning Andrea. Listen, I wanted to inform you that you wont be dancing on Friday and Saturday. I am bringing down at the club some guys to replace the poles. They've become rusty and some dancers last night complained about them not being stable”, he finished with a bit of mirth in his voice.

“Alright Sir. Does that mean I can take the two days off?”, she inquired hopefully.

“You could, but...”, and Andrea's hopes began to crumble down, “... I was just thinking that perhaps you would want to make some extra money serving drinks. You were okay at it last time. And the other girls could really use the help”, he concluded.

She truly wanted sometime off that place, especially since she had never taken a leave of absence, not even that one time when she had been sick. But then again, the extra money would be much needed come the end of the month, when bills would pile up at her doorstep. She had an apartment of her own to maintain and pay rent for.

“Let me think about it Sir, please. I will tell you of my decision tonight when I come. Is that alright with you?”, she announced hoping to avoid one of his many angry outbursts when he didn't get what he wanted.

“Fine. See you tonight”, he simply replied and closed the line.

She put her phone in her back pocket and threw a heavy grey coat on. She also picked up her umbrella and put it in her backpack as well, just in case it rained. The clouds were darker than usual and before, when she had briefly opened the window to let some air in, the smell of wet dirt and grass had reached her nostrils.

She checked her watch. 15:05, midday. _Not a bad hour to begin studying_ , she thought, exiting her apartment, bag on her shoulders and hands in pockets. There was this sense of newness in her and although she had never believed in “new day, new beginning”, now it felt strangely like it. She could not wait to get her hands on a cappuccino and find a quiet corner to write.

 

***

 

Five minutes before reaching her destination, she heard her name being called. She turned around and was met with a huffing and puffing Sam, dressed in a heavy coat and sneakers. He had probably ran from the other side of the street, so she gave him a moment to catch his breath. He might have been returning from university. His course was joint honours and so he had more lectures than her.

“Sorry... I just saw ye walking really fast and thought I wouldna catch up”, he said with small pauses between the words.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I walk... fast, indeed”, she apologised, but other than that she had nothing else to tell him to break the ice.

Thankfully he took it upon himself and spoke first, “ Where are ye heading?”.

“Ah, to the coffee shop, just at the corner”, she said nodding with her head towards that direction.

“Ye mean Three Cinnamon Sticks? Oh, man, the coffee there is divine. I was going there too to meet some friends”, he informed her with a full white smile.

“Really?”, she asked pretending to be surprised. She was dying to ask if Katherine would be there, because if she was, Andrea would prefer to head back home. She was in no mood to be called things in public again, especially by a girl like Katherine.

“Yeah... am, let me walk ye there, aye?”, he suggested, “Besides, I needed to talk to you about something and since ye' re here, well...”, he added and gave her another smile.

“Sure”, she was uncertain about this, but she knew that if she refused, it would look weird. She had a feeling that something unpleasant was going to happen, but she tried to brush it off. _It's a new day, focus_ , she kept reminding herself.

“So... listen...”, he began as they walked slowly towards the coffee shop, “... I wanted to apologise, on behalf of Katherine... I heard about what she said to ye and it's not fair...and... she wasna thinking straight, so... I am sorry about that Andrea”, he mumbled and scratched his head nervously.

Andrea wanted to believe that it was a genuine apology, but that stupid smile on his face was translated differently in her mind. She was almost sure that something suspicious was up and so she decided to play along and see what happened.

“Sam... you are not the one who should be apologising, but nonetheless, thank you. And please, don't take it too seriously. She just got pissed and said something she didn't mean. It happens to the best of us”, she stated with a broad fake smile.

She felt evil, what with trying to cat-fish him, and she loved it. _Let's see what you're up to_ , she thought as she opened the door to the shop.

He followed behind her, mumbling something like, “Yeah, you're right... yep”.

Stepping inside, they both noticed that it was packed with people. They would have to wait in a long line to order and if Sam wasn't with her, she would have been fine with waiting, but now she felt nervous. Her instincts were warning her that he didn't mean well and she trusted her judgement, especially when it came to boys.

He abandoned her for a moment to greet his friends on a huge wooden table by a window. She recognised three of them. Michael, Timothy and... Nick. Her guts churned a bit at the sight of him. The other two she didn't know. There was a girl with blond hair and blue eyes, wearing a dusty pink sweater and another boy with his tongue down her throat, or perhaps it was the other way around. She was certain that these two were not in any of her classes or now that she thought about it, not even in her University.

Sam returned to her side after a couple of minutes, all fidgety, leaving his “elite of pastel coloured friends” to wait. That is how she called the lot of them, because they always wore pastel coloured sweaters. Soft pink, baby blue, powder yellow... the mere thought of these colours made her want to vomit. She herself, always preferred darker shades. Deep emerald tones, black, crimson red and sometimes she liked to break the darkness in her clothing with a little cream brown, grey or camel. But never, for the life of her, dusty pinks and yellows.

After waiting silently in line for twenty something minutes, they finally ordered their coffees and stepped aside waiting for their names to be called.

“Are ye seeing someone?”, he asked suddenly, snapping Andrea out of her thoughts about colour and style. She tilted her head to the side, waiting for some sort of explanation, “ I mean, if ye' re dating... anyone”.

“No”, she answered indifferently, although inside she was burning to find out where he was getting at.

“Good”, he smiled briefly and shrugged, “Me neither”.

That last statement caught Andrea's attention, as she had been informed differently from Katherine yesterday. She parted her lips and said, “ I thought you were with Katherine”.

He simply shook his head, “No, I ended things the night of the party. After seeing ye dance... I realised I was with the wrong lass”, he declared confidently, the nervousness from before, gone.

“Your coffees are ready”, a girl behind the bench called and handed them their cups. Andrea took hers, not minding the slight burning sensation in her fingers and palms.

Now it all made sense. Katherine' s accusation had not been random, or caused by a sudden fit of jealousy. It had been the result of rejection. _Oh, poor boy. Saw me dancing and now he thinks he has the right to break hearts_ , she thought with derision.

“ What d' ye say? Should we maybe go out some time, get to know each other a wee better?”, he suggested taking a sip from his coffee.

 _Is that why you apologised Sammy? Because you want to get to know me better?_ , she wondered, but instead said, “ You' re not my type”, and tried to walk past him, but he blocked her way with his body.

“Wow... what' s the matter?”, he asked as if her previous statement had been some kind of joke.

“You break up with Katherine, I' m being accused of something that I am not and now you're here apologising and asking me out and expecting to get a yes?”, she looked at him with no particular expression in her face. Just with a cold stare that she hoped made him feel at least a bit threatened.

She watched as all his smiles faded away and seriousness overtook him. He took a step towards her and Andrea struggled to keep her ground. She was the one feeling a little threatened now.

“I dinna understand why it's such a big deal. I don't like her any more. I like ye and want to take you out and then who knows? Maybe we could go dancing and after that... well surely we' ll figure something out”, he divulged.

Andrea was disgusted by his implications and she was sure it showed in her face. _At least Katherine spat it in my face_ , she thought, but didn't voice it.

“Like I said... you're not my type”, she repeated and got past him, but apparently he had other ideas in his mind, as his fingers wrapped around her elbow preventing her from moving away.

“Andrea, wait”, he coaxed in a low voice so as not to be heard. He pulled her gently towards him, her back hitting his front, “ Why are ye acting like this? I thought this was what ye wanted. Why else would ye dance like that? Ye knew I was watching ye...”, but the rest of his words were incomprehensible as Andrea's senses concentrated on something else.

Above the humming in the room and above the easy going lounge music, she heard the glass door open behind her and Sam. Her eyes flattered closed as the leather, the musk and that fresh smell between mint and old books invaded her nostrils. She inhaled once, deeply and when she exhaled, her breath came out a bit shaky. Had she imagined it? Was he...

“Filter, black, no sugar”, she heard a familiar voice from somewhere distant and its vibrations made her eyes pop open.

“ Hey, are ye listening to me?”, Sam hissed in her ear so that only she could hear it.

“Thank you”, the voice said, almost immediately after Sam.

She heard footsteps approaching and soon her field of vision was filled with him. Time slowed down as he walked, dressed in the black coat she had so liked the other day, coffee cup in one hand and book in the other. He turned his head to the side and gave her a slightly raised eyebrow, as well as a delicate half smile. She saw him going at the far back of the establishment to sit at a medium size table, perfect for scattering around books and notepads, with two leather chairs and matching couch. It was situated in front of a wooden framed window with candlesticks upon its inward extension. The light coming from outside was low and made his features shadowy, as he rested his back on the couch and opened his book.

“Andrea, what the-”, Sam started to say, but she cut him off jerking her elbow away.

“Sam, I am going to say this one time and one time only. I don't like you, I don't like the way you treated Katherine and I don't like the way you're planning on treating me. Clearly, in that club, you read signs that weren't there. Now, why wont you just back off and let me go study?”, she said emphasising almost every word.

Sam looked a bit shocked at her outburst and looked around the room nervously before saying in a coaxing tone, “ Come on Andrea”, he began, “ Sit with me and think about what I've said-”, but she huffed in exasperation and turned her back to walk off, but he grabbed her elbow again. _This is getting ridiculous_ , she whined inwardly. _Keep it under control_ , she scolded herself.

“What is it with you women always playing hard to get?”, he joked tightening his grip a bit. She stared at where his hand was and decided that she had to escape on her own. She had to slip away from him and go where she wanted to go, since she saw his tall, dark and menacing figure, turning towards her and smiling. She wasn't going to be forced to leave her favourite place, because Sammy couldn't take no for an answer.

“ I am not playing hard to get Sam, you are just too easy to figure out”, she replied with a snide remark and jerked her hand once more, “Now, if you' ll excuse me...”, she said and began walking towards Loki's table.

“Wait, what are ye doing?”, he called after her, probably realising where she was heading.

She turned around and scoffed, “What do you want now?”.

“What, I'm guessing he's more of your type, aye? That lunatic?”, he spat and something inside Andrea stirred violently. Like when a tempest is shy of beginning.

She wrapped her arms around her body, gathering courage to endure him for just a little bit longer and took two slow steps toward him, her heels clicking threateningly upon the wooden floor. She gave him one last expressionless look and whispered in his face, “ Careful now”.

And with that, she turned around and walked timidly towards Loki's table, leaving Sam staring at her with an expression all over his face that suggested she was crazy. But at least now, he wouldn't dare annoy her. Not when she would have joined her tall and dangerous prince. _My what?_ , she thought suddenly.

Loki watched her approach hesitantly with the corner of his eye, while he pretended to read his book with absolute focus. The truth though was, that since he entered the coffee shop he had his ears stretched wide to listen to every word exchanged between his little dancer and that boy.

He had come here today, in hopes of maybe seeing her again and putting into action what Mrs Granzioni had told him in the morning. The audacious woman's words had hit a nerve inside him and so he had decided to put his stubbornness and spite on the side and follow her advice. He had brought one of his favourite books with him to serve as a distraction as he would hopelessly wait. But to his surprise, he had found out that the little dancer was already here and not to mention, with a boy who didn't know what rejection meant, obviously.

The two times he had grabbed her elbow like that, Loki had wanted to intervene, but he trusted her enough to handle the situation on her own and so she had, proving him right. When she got to his table, his heart started to pound faster, but he kept his gaze focused on a page.

Her sweet aroma surrounded him and he breathed it in as discreetly as possible. Citrus and honey combined with some alcoholic substance that he could not pick out easily.

“Excuse me...”, she started with her heart spiralling out of control, “... may I sit with you? All the other tables are occupied”, she indicated at the tables behind her, feeling a sudden relief that her English didn't got messed up in her head, just like it had happened last time they talked.

Loki met her eyes as soon as she spoke, not being able to wait any longer. He noticed that the same hand that had waved back at the other tables, was now resting on the underside of her breast, protectively, cautiously. She had done this a couple of times before and Loki deducted that it should be her stress mechanism, just like he had the rubbing of his middle finger. _Give her your truth and make her feel safe..._ , Mrs Granzioni' s words echoed in his mind. _Return to who you used to be..._

Andrea saw himplace the book in his lap and his face changed into an expression of pure mischief. Wide grin and squinted eyes. He gave her a once over, assessing, calculating and finally said in a low tone that only she could hear, “ If you tell me your name little dancer, you may”, and raised his chin slightly, authoritatively.

Andrea blushed furiously at the sound of his pet name for her and moved a bit closer to whisper in secrecy, “ I can't Sir, you know that”.

He chuckled then and rested one hand on the couch' s back and one on the table, beside his coffee cup, opening up his chest in a welcoming gesture, “Yes, you can. Correct me if I am wrong, but I see no stage in this place. No bar, no chandeliers, no velvet couches and no drunk men. It's only you and me”.

She bit her bottom lip, silently admitting that he was right. She couldn't use her real name inside the men's club, but in Three Cinnamon Sticks, there were no such rules. _Smart_ , she thought approvingly, biting her lip again.

 _That I am_ , he thought back, expecting his answer patiently with a confident look on his face.

She didn't know what she wanted to do more. Give in and tell him her name, or punch the smugness out of him and tell him to fuck off. She shifted from one foot to another and raised her eyes to meet his in a trusting gaze.

“ Andrea”, she whispered at first, but then said a bit louder, “My name is Andrea”. She looked away quickly, a little abashed by the growing smile on his face, signalling his victory and her loss.

“Andrea...”, he repeated in a sultry voice and then, a bunch of inappropriate thoughts exploded in her mind all at once.

Her name had rolled of his tongue like thick honey dripping down on naked skin. He had repeated it in a seductive tune and she wanted to dance to it, even though her legs had become a bit wobbly now. Before she knew it she was biting the edge of her lip, again, while she thought of vibrations and satin and raw-.

“ Please, have a seat”, he said gesturing to the chairs across from him, snapping her out of her reverie and for that she was thankful.

She shook her head a bit to make sure all naughty thoughts had fallen out and tried to focus on what she had to do now, what she had originally planned on doing today.

She set her coffee down, hanged her coat on the chair's shoulders and sat down, whispering a thank you, while Loki observed transfixed the delicate moves of her fingers and the slight twist of her wrist under the black sleeve. So graceful and tender, but so feral and rough when she had to be.

“What will you be studying?”, he asked then and watched amused as her eyes went wide. To put her at ease, although he loved torturing her, he added, “I heard you before when you were talking to that... boy”, he gestured towards the table where Sam and his elite of bullies were sitting.

She rubbed her pulse point, “Was I talking that loudly?”, she asked glancing right and left to check if any eyes were upon her.

“No little dancer. I only heard you because my hearing abilities are enhanced, amongst other things”, he smiled devilishly, his eyes boring into her intensely.

In that very gaze, she found the confidence she needed in order to ask, “ Why do you keep calling me that?”.

Loki was a little taken aback by the sudden commanding tone of her question, but it made him immensely happy, “What will you be studying?”, he insisted, teasing.

She was quick to reply, “ English Literature. Why do you call me 'little dancer'?”, she insisted as well.

It was a strange feeling, this sudden bravery that pushed her to ask him things so directly. Sure, she felt extremely uncomfortable doing it, but that did not quiet down the urge to talk to him. Why did she even want to talk to him?

“Because I like the colour you blush when I say it”, he stated, smirking.

Andrea did exactly as he said. Blushed, and went back to rubbing her pulse point while she crossed her legs under the table to trap the wetness that had started to develop. A God... this God...liked the way she blushed. She shook her head and cleared her throat, “ I should... I should start, probably, my...”, she tried to say, but failed completely.

“Before you do, I suppose I should thank you for defending my honour back there, my gallant princess”, he bowed his head and gave her a half smile. Had he just called her princess? She wasn't sure if he meant it genuinely or if he was trying to joke in order to break the ice.

Andrea answered honestly though, with a bit of sadness in her voice, “ I am sorry for what he said...”, she began raising her eyes to his face, trying to convince him that her defence was true and had good meaning, “ … people are quick to judge sometimes”.

Loki watched with utter amazement how she went from bold and forward to shy and introverted to sad and regretful. _Why do you care?_ , he thought searching her mind for the answer, but he found nothing.

She reached down at her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper, a notepad and a pencil with a sharp tip. She put on round reading glasses and began to write things down within seconds, her fingers moving from swift and haphazard strokes to slow and delicate lines. He could watch her do that all day, but he knew that soon she would notice and start feeling uncomfortable again. So with difficulty, he tore his gaze from her beautiful face and all its cute reactions and let her write. He returned to his book and this time he actually concentrated on reading, while revelling in the distant sound of her pencil scarring the pages.

When Andrea randomly thought of checking her watch, it was 18:00 o'clock, in the afternoon. In front of her, on the table she had an empty coffee cup, a worn out pencil and about twelve pages full of first drafts and answers to the questions in the sheet the teacher had given them about The Merry Wives. He had decided that the class should remain a bit longer in that play, since many students hadn't quite grasped the meaning of the text, judging by the first essays he had assigned. This homework now, with the comprehension questions was due Monday, but she liked to be prepared. In the pages on her notepad there were now hundreds of sentences, surely filled with grammar or syntax mistakes that she would have to correct before typing and printing. For now, she was absolutely pleased that a large portion of her work was out of the way and a fuzzy feeling danced around her stomach and belly.

She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes gently with her knuckles. She paused for a while, straightened her back and began observing the man at the other side of the table.

She couldn't deny that her original weariness had been replaced by another consuming feeling. She realised that the more time she spend with him, the more she got used to his presence around her. For once in the three months she was here, the loneliness and abandonment had subsided to a point where she felt nice being in someone's company in such casual and chilled way. Silence was not unbearable with him. She felt like she could breathe freely and above all, she felt as if she was surrounded by an invisible field of protection, cast and kept up by his control and sheer will. Perhaps he had indeed surrounded the both of them with some kind of spell.

She watched him as he read in silence, his lips twitching every now and then and his brows furrowing whenever he stumbled upon something he liked. He looked peaceful and perfectly content, until something happened in his book that unsettled him and contorted his features into various expressions.

His characteristics were rather aristocratic. High cheekbones framed his pale face and with his raven hair slicked back, they looked even more prominent. His jawline was sharp and of a slender structure, especially at the front. Dark, bushy eyebrows guarded penetrating blue green eyes underneath, which now and then sparked a little greener or a little bluer, with mischief or with melancholy. Nose like the ones she had seen adorning the faces of Greek and Roman statues, back home. She descended her eyes to his, slightly pink when under the right light, lips which tempted you to sell your soul with a kiss.

If she wanted to be honest with herself, she had never before been in such close proximity with a man. And by man, she meant an actual adult, not a boy like Sam or like the other youths at her University who still did not know how to talk or how to determine what they wanted from life. Loki wasn't like that. He appeared to be in control at all times, an almost painful kind of control. He kept silent and never bothered anyone, as she had come to understand in the few days they were around each other. He was powerful and if she had to guess, dominant in many aspects of his life. A mature being of unimaginable knowledge and strength. Come to think of it, she felt awfully young in his presence and perhaps ignorant in many things, but she had never felt lesser in comparison to him. Not with how gently he treated her. Like she was someone interesting and worth his attention. She had no idea why people thought him to be rude and cruel. He was too handsome and too respecting, at least to her.

But despite all this otherworldly beauty, there was something else hiding in the crease between his brows, in the lines on his forehead and the little wrinkles at the sides of his eyes. In the tautness of his jaw. She watched as his long, slender fingers turned the pages on his book. You could tell a lot about someone by the look of their hands. And his moved slowly, delicately, as if the turning of a page was a difficult spell he had to cast. Her eyes darted to the cashmere adorning his chest and stayed there for a bit, observing its ups and downs with each breath he took. He was tired and ghostly. As if only a shadow had remained of the former glorious God she had seen depicted on TV some years back. _You' re in pain,_ she concluded.

And he heard. The thought flashed quickly through his mind as if it were his own. It made him stop his reading and gently turn to look at her. Once she realised she had been caught staring, she lowered her gaze to her notes, her cheeks burning bright, and putting her glasses back on she returned to her studying.

With his lips parted and not completely sure what showed in his eyes, he wondered, how, just how on Earth, she could tell. Was it visible in his face? Even after all his attempts at hiding it?

Eventually he stopped thinking about it, only because he got lost in her beauty. He had always thought that a beautiful face was about absolute symmetry, but hers proved him wrong. It was all about the right contradictions.

He observed her closely, as she read a book, probably the one she was previously answering questions about. Her skin glowed in the warm lights of the coffee shop and her cheeks always seemed to blush that peachy pink colour, for no reason at all. He caught himself thinking if the rest of her body was flustered like that at all times. Her face was of a subtle bone structure, broad and triangular, but still thin. While her cheekbones were barely visible and her jawline almost oval like, her central features were bold and changed according to her mood. Cat-like eyes dressed with long, but not thick lashes, which housed wide green forests filled with a glittering curiosity he had never before come across and which, he felt, he himself was not able to satisfy. When calm, the shade of her eyes reminded him of the forests in Vanaheim, peaceful and magical, filled with spirits and sparkling springs, but when furious, they grew dark until they turned into an onyx abyss that dared you to jump in and be swallowed by the void. Those beautiful eyes, with the many expressions and shades, were guarded by thick dark brows of a natural shape, with a slight arch at the ends that went completely straight when she bent her head. They offered a general look of seriousness to her whole face, especially when she furrowed them and created that light crease in between, which he spotted on his own face as well. A slim nose with a light bump at the centre gave even more dimension to her features, before one fixed his eyes upon lush lips. They resembled plump rosebuds, fresh and in full bloom, covered with a discreet coat of something glossy and shiny. He wanted to taste them, tug at them, bit them and make them bleed slightly for the sake of making them redder.

“Fuck”, he jumped at the sound of an earth shuttering thunder. He turned his head towards the window as the rain drops started to fall, at first lazily and then harder and faster towards the stony side walks. He turned his attention back to the little dancer who seemed completely unfazed neither by the loudness of the water outside nor by the lightnings that followed.

“Do you like the rain?”, he asked out of curiosity.

She set her pen down and took off her glasses. She blinked a couple of times to adjust to the changes in her vision and then her eyes fell upon him, tired, but excited.

“Yeah”, she nodded with her head and turned her gaze out the window half smiling. Loki wished she could give him one. One half smile.

As Andrea let her thoughts drift accompanied by the sound of the rain, an odd question popped up in her mind, but she thought about it a lot before uttering a single word. She was afraid that it might offend him to ask such a thing. _Better to keep quiet,_ was the final decision, but before she could go back to her reading Loki spoke.

“Say it”, he demanded giving her a once over as he set his book on his lap. He had read right through the anxious fidgeting of her fingers and he had noticed how her smile had gradually faded into a sad frown. She was thinking about something, but it was faint, so he couldn't hear it.

“It's nothing”, she brushed him off quickly without facing him.

“Little dancer...”, he cooed, extending the last word knowingly. He fixed his intense gaze upon her until she broke and blurted out as fast as she could, covering her face with her palm:

“ Fine, I was just wondering if it's your brother causing the rain right now, okay? Stop looking at me like that”.

Loki chuckled loudly at her thought and when he was done and when she was too embarrassed to look him in the eye ever again, he leaned a bit forward and said, pretending offence, “ All these dimmed lights around us, the smell of coffee and a beautiful thunderstorm is all it takes for you to swoon over my brother? It makes sense, with him being a fierce warrior and the God of Fertility but I must confess, I feel deeply wounded”, he concluded resting a large palm over his heart.

She couldn't hold back a laugh at his short performance and so she let it escape her lungs while watching him continuing his little charade. It had been a long time since she had last laughed like that. So much in fact, that she couldn't even remember when that last time had been. She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeves still shaking from the aftershocks, her green globes occasionally darting towards his stunned, satisfied face.

The sound of her laughter made Loki's stomach flip delightfully and he couldn't help the grin of satisfaction that was breaking through his previous pretentious heart brokenness. The realisation that a simple joke, just like the ones he used to throw here and there when he was younger, had brought out such jolly sound from such a beautiful creature was too good to be true, but made him feel alive nonetheless.

Having calmed down, she said, “ No, no, nothing like that, I assure you. I was just wondering if the myths were indeed true”, and she then added, “Besides, your brother frightens me a bit”. After that short statement, she looked away timidly, in fear of having overstepped, but Loki only scoffed.

 _“_ Thor? Frightening?”, a wide smile spread across his lips as he picked up his book again, “ Thor is a big fluffy bear with a patch in his eye”, he joked and heard her laugh again, sweetly, delightfully although this time it was shorter, to his great displeasure, “Trust me love, if anyone is frightening in our family that is me”, he said bitterly, but before he had the chance to concentrate back on his book, leaving her to finish her homework, she uttered a simple confession that made his heart tighten.

“You're not frightening, you' re just different... and different can be intimidating at first, but...”, she lowered her gaze unsure if it was proper to look him in the eyes while saying this, “... you've been nice to me, both in here and...in other places”, she inhaled deeply and her voice came out a bit shaky, “ You can't be all that bad”.

She didn't know why, but she had felt the need to assure him and herself somehow that he was not what he thought he was. With that out of her chest, she dropped her gaze back to her book to read the last scenes.

Loki followed her example and turned back to his book too, trying to focus on the meaning of the words and not on her short, brave statement that had touched parts inside him no one had dared to even look for, except his beloved Frigga.

Another hour passed by in silence and Andrea finished her book, making sure that she remembered the plot line well enough and that she hadn't forgotten any important points in her answers. Before she put it away along with the rest of her writing material and glasses, she heard Loki whisper some lines from his book. Actually, not even whispering, just reading them soundlessly, letting one or two words come out a bit louder. She took a glimpse at the cover for the first time this afternoon and her face instantly lit up. _Faust,_ she thought excitedly. And as it seemed, Loki was reaching one of her favourite parts.

She tried to listen carefully and tune in, “ _Within the bowels of these elements, where we are tortured and remain forever, Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed in one self place, for where we are is hell and where hell is, must we ever be. And-_ ”.

“ _And to conclude, when all the world dissolves and every creature shall be purified, all places shall be hell that is not heaven_ ”, she completed with a stupid smile on her face, rational thoughts absent from her mind.

They stared at each other for a moment. He, with fascination in his eyes, she, with appreciation and something like stunned surprise.

“You like Marlowe little dancer?”, he asked chuckling lightly.

“It's one of my favourite parts... sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt”, she apologised and looked away. What was wrong with her today? Where had she found all this bravery to laugh and to joke and to annotate literature with, basically, a stranger?

“ Favourite? It sends such a pessimistic message, little dancer. I cannot believe that a woman with such beautiful laughter could like a part like this”, he commented, his eyes never leaving hers.

“ Well...”, she began timidly, “... I guess, when a pessimist laughs it's always genuine”, and rested a fist against a burning cheek hoping to cool it off.

As she did though, she chanced to take a look at her watch and realised that it was really late. Almost 20:30. She looked around and saw that barely any people were in the coffee shop. The sun had already set and the rain had stopped.

Coming back to reality was difficult. She got up, mumbling more to herself than to Loki, “ I have to go. I got to get home, before-”.

“Of course”, Loki said in apprehension and shutting his book, he escorted her outside, careful to keep a good distance between them.

They stood in the chilly side walk, waiting to find out who would break the silence first, until Andrea finally found the courage to say, “ Thank you for letting me sit with you”. Her voice shook slightly, both from the cold and from the anxiousness to get home. She had a long distance to cover, but it was manageable, especially with how fast she walked.

“It was my pleasure...”, he gifted her with a genuine smile to distract her as he reached for her fingers. She flinched a bit due to the unexpected contact, but gave in without further hesitation. He brushed his lips lightly against her knuckles without breaking eye contact, “... Andrea”.

When his lips connected with her skin, her heart flattered, as a jolt of electricity went through her. She felt her cheeks burn. No one had ever kissed her hand before. You only found these gestures in the Bronte books.

Without knowing what else to do or say, she tucked her hand in her pocket and walked off into the night.

Loki watched her go and soon she had disappeared behind a corner. With a smirk on his face and his hands in his pockets, similarly to her, he started walking, trying to savour the taste of her skin and to bring back the sound of her laughter and deep voice. He couldn't wait for tonight, as he wasn't done yet. He was only getting started.

 

***

 

It was 23:45 and Andrea was out of her changing room, dressed in a satin robe in order to hide her partial nakedness. She was having a discussion with Tim, the DJ, about the music she wanted him to play tonight.

“You've no idea how much I appreciate your taste”, he said laughing.

“Thank you Tim, that is nice of you to say”, she thanked him and gifted him with a kind smile.

As he adjusted some cables and pushed some buttons on his DJ set, he cajoled, “ You know Andrea, I got to tell you, you dance fantastically. The other girls, sure, they give them tits and ass but you... you give them emotion and art”.

Andrea did not really know how to react to that comment. Tim was a nice kid, in his 20's and playing music at this place had been his last resort when he had been looking for work three years ago, or so he had told her. No one took him very seriously in the club, with his short height, funny nose and squinty eyes. She liked him, because more often that not he was good company and never judged. But his statement about her dancing was difficult to accept, even if it was meant as a compliment.

Truth was, she didn't want to give anything to the men who came and watched her every night. She only wished to get on the stage, swing around for three to five minutes, leave and receive payment for it. But it never went like that. Every night, at 00:00 she danced and the emotion poured out of her before she even realised it. And it all had gotten worse with the arrival of a particular God, due to this particular God's way of stripping her off her control and reducing her to a puppet which danced under the mastery of his fingers, dipped in shame and disgrace.

She took a deep breath and decided to simply thank Tim, again, and proceeded in talking about the song, “ So, do you think you can play it the way we discussed? A little slower in the parts that are quicker?”.

“Absolutely. And I can also enhance the second voices so they sound a bit more echoey rather than just whisperings”, he suggested excitedly.

“That would be great, thank you”, she replied and started to walk backstage when Tim called after her.

“I forgot to tell you. Boss wants to see you in his office before your dancing number”, he blurted out and Andrea nodded, not very pleased with the news. That man definitely wanted her in his office to get his answer for Friday and Saturday.

She started walking again, this time towards the office upstairs, but she stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Loki entering the main area, dressed in the clothes he had been wearing a few hours ago at the coffee shop. Andrea racked her eyes up and down his body, as discreetly as she could and decided that he could wear a potato sack and still look incredible.

When he noticed her presence, he lowered his head a bit, a silent hello. She wanted to smile widely, truthfully, but all she managed was a quick half one. That was all she could give him inside that place. She could not be herself with ease when in the club, not when men were groaning and coming all over young girls. She did her best to avoid looking towards their directions, and instead focused on Loki, who was still staring at her, as if he had all the time in the world. But soon, she had to avert her eyes and scatter away. Holding his gaze was hard when her background music included moans.

She ascended the stairs as fast as her feet were able, leaving Loki to take his place at the front seat table.

She knocked on the door and when she heard the invitation, she stepped inside.

The manager's office was as lush as the main area downstairs. The same crimson red tapestries adorned the walls and a huge Persian rug was spread out under her feet, similar to the one at the lobby. There were no windows in this room, which made the atmosphere heavy. His desk was made of dark brown wood and was extremely messy on top. Alongside the many papers, one could find Scotch glasses and broken pencils as well as some ink stains here and there. Two antique leather chairs were positioned in front of the desk, in which Andrea was invited to seat with a sloppy gesture of the manager's hand. She sat, looking around for anything else worth a description. Behind her there was an old piano, sitting against the wall, also packed with papers and small glasses on the keyboard and lid. She wondered if it worked or if it was out of order.

“Two things Little V, only two and then I' ll let you go do your dancing number, alright? Right, first off...”, he began, not giving her a chance to say anything, “ … have you decided what you' ll do on Friday and Saturday?”.

She swallowed thickly, “ No, to be honest. I' m not sure yet”.

He poured himself a drink and relaxed back on his chair, “ What if I pay you something extra? Like we discussed on the phone? What do you think?”, he suggested and gulped down his Scotch.

“How much do you mean?”, she asked, not sure if she was suppose to make a question like that.

“Say, 70£ on Friday and 70£ on Saturday. And any tips the customers give you, you can keep them. What do you say kiddo?”, he shrugged.

Andrea thought about it for a minute. 140£ for two nights of serving drinks plus the potential tips was not little considering that for every month she worked here she was paid 400£, and that sum went mostly for the electricity and water bills leaving her with about 100£ for the rest of her expenses. So, it wasn't a completely bad idea to earn something extra. And besides, now she had experience both in serving drinks and in ways to handle drunk people and she also knew how to use the cashier.

“How many hours?”.

“You start at 23:00 and finish at 02:00, one hour before we close”.

“Alright, I' ll do it”, she agreed, “ What's the other thing you wanted to tell me?”, she asked worried. She hoped it wasn't about their deal.

He crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs sliding his chair backwards, his eyes glued on her face to the point where she felt uncomfortable.

“I want you to keep doing what you're doing kiddo”, he began, “As of recently it has come to my attention that you make my customers all hot and bothered with your teasing and they are more excited with that than when you show them tits. So, keep doing it okay? It makes them spend more money on drinks and girls, alright?”.

She, once again, did not know if she was supposed to take the statement as a compliment, but at least she was grateful that he had decided to be lenient with their deal.

“Okay, I' ll keep doing it, if you think it brings more money in”, she nodded in agreement.

“Good. Now off you go”, he said and she got up quickly, abandoning his office. If she had stayed another minute in there she would have burst from the lack of oxygen. And class.

 

***

 

“Welcome fine gentlemen for one more night to our honourable establishment, to our Valhalla”, Loki heard the presenter announce jovially, “ As always opening the show, Little V, and oh gentlemen, may I just say that she is going to kill us with those moods?”, men around the room laughed and approved, “ First she kills us with those delicious tits and then she teases us for days, what can we poor men do?”, he feigned despair, “ Please, give her a welcoming applause and she might indulge us tonight”, he winked and exited the stage while the clap of hands echoed all around.

Loki's knuckles felt itchy. How he hated the way this presenter talked about his little dancer. Of course he talked like that about all the dancers, but the others were not his concern. He put his hands into fists and tried to not let the anger overtake him. He wouldn't be helping her if he injured people.

The lights dimmed even more as the curtains rose slowly revealing a stage illuminated by small flames coming from red candlesticks. They were scattered around the floor and at a good distance away from the pole. The lights coming from the projectors were of a more natural colour, almost yellowy, making everything look more careful and romantic than usual.

Once his eyes fell upon the little dancer, hanging upside down from the pole, his heart started to race. Her legs were firmly wrapped around the metal tube managing to hold all of her weight. Her cheeks were redder than usual, as was her chest, due to the blood rushing down her head from the rest of her body. Her womanly areas were adorned with crimson balconette and panties with intricate lace patterns and a couple of cream details, such as a tiny bow between her breasts or thin velvet lines which drew out and indicated the area where her mound should be.

On her legs, she wore rose gold ballet shoes with thick straps which kept both feet and ankles secured in a pointy position. Loki couldn't help but thinking about making love to her while she wore them. The thought of the soft silk caressing his ribs and waist when she would wrap her long, lean legs around him, welcoming him inside her, was enough to make him hard. How wonderful she would look, how warm she would feel as he brought her to heights unimaginable...

“ _Love... I said real love... it's like feeling no fear... when you're standing at the face of danger..._ ”. Andrea stretched her arms outwards and moved them up and down slowly, just like a ballerina pretending to be a swan. She twisted her wrists and her fingers delicately, to the rhythm of the music, before she used the strength of her core to gracefully lift her upper body and take hold of the pole while she released her legs. “ _A touch... from your real love... it's like heaven taking the place of something evil..._ ”. She glided down, landing firmly on pointed toes and once she found the right balance, she proceeded touching and rubbing sensually every part of her neck and clothed breasts. Letting her hands go a little further down, in tune with the slowness of the music, she positioned her legs to a plie squat, still on pointy toes, and caressed her inner thighs, shivering under her own touch and Loki's intense gaze.

“ _(Fuck)... Darlin', darlin', darlin', I fall to pieces when I' m with you..._ ”. Shutting her legs and with a pirouette faster than lightning, she dropped on all fours and glided her core against the floor, making sure to bend every bone of her spine. She came crawling to the edge of the stage, sat on her spread knees and touched every bit of exposed skin. Each location Loki wanted to put his mouth on.

He leaned forward, shifting his weight uncomfortably, due to the bulge in his pants, wanting to look at her closer. A few hip thrusts after, the little dancer was back on her toes, holding the pole and turning around it slowly, intimately, but the colour on her cheeks betrayed that she wasn't comfortable with the way she moved. Her eyes darted nervously around the room, now and then, and he was sure that if he touched her hands they would be cold and sweaty.

Andrea realised that her sensual pelvic thrusts against the pole were too intense and tried to hold back in the last minute. Her clothed, but still exposed, spot was almost touching the metal pole and she was sure that it must have looked like she was rubbing her clit against it. Her cheeks caught fire when she sensed wetness down there and her first worry was for Loki not to see it. How could she be in a room full of all kinds of depraved males and still stress over one man?

She kept holding back as best as she could, but her dancing involved a lot of thigh rubbing and that certainly did not help the ache between her legs. She should have known better. She should have been more careful. This torture she was going through now, was all her fault. At least she hoped that the internal sexual frustration did not show in her face. _Oh, damn it. Stop. Fuck. Stay in control. Control. It hurts,_ was all she could think about as she swayed here and there.

He smirked evilly. He could read her like an open book without even needing to go through her thoughts. He wondered if after her dance, she would go backstage to relieve that which was dangerously aching. He rubbed his lower lip with his forefinger and inhaled deeply her honeyed wetness. Maybe the other men in the room were fools, as they cheered and pumped their cocks at the sight of her, but he was no idiot. He sensed her. He watched and observed her truly, as she was unfolding herself in front of him, all the while trying to convince herself that she did not enjoy it.

“ _My rose garden dreams... set on fire by fiends...and all my black beaches..._ ”, and she dipped down to the floor, legs wide open and ballerina shoes still pointed, cupping and squeezing her breasts. Loki's mouth watered because as she let them go, he noticed that she had rose petals in her hands which she used now to caress her stomach, belly and thighs. Loud ohs were heard from the men behind him and he tried to shut them out, wanting to surrender completely to the purity of her moves.

“ _My cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme... and all of my peaches (are ruined)..._ ”, one last swing around and Andrea slowed down. With heaving chest and breaths coming out in short gasps she turned her back to the crowd and undid her balconette, but did not let it fall off her shoulders. Instead, she let it hang there as she ran her fingers through her hair, round sculpted hips slightly swaying.

The curtain began to fall and as the song came to an end, she slid off the red lingerie piece and threw it somewhere behind her back not knowing where it would land. She didn't care though. She would search for it after she was dressed. She heard praise and shouts on her way backstage.

She reached her changing room with palms protectively covering her breasts and once inside, she slumped down on the only chair and lifted one leg to place it on her boudoir surface. She didn't bother to lock the door or take off her ballerina shoes or even put something on to cover her nakedness. Her skin was burning hot, her nipples erect and red like rosebuds and her pussy wet and throbbing.

She slid both hands underneath her panties to hopefully get it done quicker. With the fingers of one hand she spread her folds and with the forefinger of the other she began to rub her little bundle of nerves. She gasped. Every touch, no matter how light or hard felt ten times stronger. Within seconds she was rubbing maniacally, desperate to relieve the ache and the pressure she had created on her body.

Mewling gasps escaped her lungs now and then as she struggled to keep him out of her thoughts. But he was already there, strolling through her mind. Her fingers were his fingers, parting and rubbing, turning and pressing, flicking and teasing the soft flesh between her thighs. She came all over her hands, his hands, in her mind, with a choked moan.

“What are you doing to me?”, she whispered breathlessly.

 

 

 

 _What are you doing to me_ , she whispered breathlessly and Loki disconnected from her mind, grinning like a wolf who caught his prey without the slightest bit of effort.

The balconette she had thrown had landed precisely in front of him and it had served as the perfect bridge between their minds. The spell enabled him to feel what she felt and listen to what she was thinking, but it hadn't been easy to find her in the building, what with everyone moaning and screaming. Picturing her with his imagination had helped him focus and thus he had found her and had triumphantly discovered how she had pleasured herself with the thought of his touch.

He heard the door to the changing rooms open and from within came the little dancer, all flustered and nervous. She walked with bag dangling on her side behind the bar. Loki got up and took a seat at a bar stool, shoving the red fabric into his pocket and leaned forward to see what she was up to, with a chuckle ready to break free. She had squatted by a mini fridge to get a bottle of water. He saw her gulp it down as fast as she could, a couple of drops sliding down her chin.

“Thirsty are we?”, he said amusingly. She turned her gaze at him and nearly chocked, violent coughs escaping her lungs, trying to bring the air back in.

“Apologies little dancer. Are you alright?”, he asked still staring down at her, as she put down the water bottle and shook her head positively.

She got up slowly, rubbing her throat to make it relax, when her eyes connected to a place somewhere behind him. They went wide suddenly and her lips parted in mild surprise that touched a bit the boarder of panic, when she uttered, “Did you do this?”.

Loki's brows furrowed in confusion. He turned around, in hopes that he would understand what she was talking about. His eyes fell upon that woman, Lizzy, whose neck was marked with the light purple shape of his hand. She was staring at them in fear, but as soon as Loki had turned his head she had scattered off, probably afraid of the consequences of even looking at him.

When he looked back at Andrea's direction, she was staring at him with an unreadable expression in her face, “I can explain-”, he started, but she cut him off with a voice hoarse and timid.

“Why did you do that?”, her eyes darted quickly to his hands and then back to his face.

“She said something that insulted you and assumed things about me when it was not her place to do so. I wished to make sure she would not do it again”, he replied sternly, his jaw taut, expecting friendly fire or hostile.

Andrea' s breath quickened as she realised that her body was going to betray her once more. The wetness in her folds was undeniable and all of her pulse points pounded harder.

He had wrapped his hands around a woman's neck in defence of her honour and his pride and for some reason Andrea was turned on. She chose her next words carefully, mindful of where they were and how he looked at her, half sorrowfully, half dangerously.

“ Thank you”.

Loki' s lips parted in surprise and his eyes glimmered under the low lights. He certainly had not expected to be thanked for violently chocking a woman, and what's more, by a creature so delicate and pure. He decided that it was too good to be true. She was probably playing him in fear that if she did not look thankful for his help he would lunge at her just like he had done with Lizzy and this exact thought he voiced.

“Are you thankful because I defended you or because you' re afraid that I' ll do the same to you if you're not?”, he leaned a bit closer scanning her features for signs of lies.

At the sound of that sultry voice, Andrea's knees gave way for a split second, but she held her ground bravely. He was watching her intently. Calculating. Evaluating. Searching for lies, like he had done every time they exchanged words. For a minute she thought about what events in his life had managed to make him this careful and suspicious of everything and everyone. She had vaguely heard of his story, his origins and his relationship with his brother and the Avengers. But then again, she had only known what S.H.I.E.L.D had allowed to go into the press and into social media. It made her sad to think about all the ways he might have been hurt in his life and how all this information might have been blocked from becoming known to the public. Perhaps if people, herself included, knew the whole story about him, they wouldn't be fearful of him and they wouldn't cast him out so easily.

 _I'm not your enemy_ , she thought, before answering truthfully, “ It's not my place to judge the way you chose to defend me. All I know is that you did and for whatever reason that makes me feel...”, she paused for a moment trying to keep from blushing, “... safer. So, thank you”, she concluded.

Loki leaned back and his shoulders instantly relaxed. He gave her a once over, all his suspicion of fear or foul play gone. She had admitted safety. Safety that he provided. _Full of contradictions and surprises, little dancer, full of contradictions and surprises, but no lies_ , he observed silently, admiring that fact about her.

“You' re welcome”, he said in a husky voice, tilting his head to the side and gifting her with a half smile.

She smiled back, timidly and furiously red in the face. She lowered her gaze and started playing with her fingers trying to come up with a kind way of saying goodnight. If she stood before him for a minute longer the ache would begin again and this time she would have to run all the way to her house to relieve it. Damn it, it was those eyes. Those green eyes that looked at her as if they wanted to swallow her whole existence.

“Well... goodnight”, she mumbled and started walking slowly towards the exit, but before she made it too far he called after her, voice dripping mischief.

“Aren't you forgetting something?”, Loki declared before she had gone too far away to listen to him.

Andrea turned around slowly and her eyes widened in shock as she saw her red balconette hanging from his middle finger provocatively. She had completely forgotten about that. Swallowing down thickly, she walked to where he was seated in order to retrieve it. Her knees were wobbly as she stood right in front of him, almost between his spread legs. She raised her hand to take the piece of fabric, but before her fingers touched it, he held it back and out of her reach.

“Ah, ah, ah”, he chided, “ I have a question first. Answer me and I shall give you what you want”, he divulged in a low tone, gathering her balconette in his fist, tentatively, carefully, as if it were something special. Her eyes darted to his fingers and she noticed how vibrant the red looked in contrast to his white skin.

She took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her gaze lowered and trying at the same time to block out the moans of a girl at her left, but Loki wouldn't have it. He got up and closed the distance between them with one wide, intimidating stride. Her shoulders automatically rose a bit as if she was fighting back a chill, or better, as if she was trying to shrink her body into a ball.

She did not expect it when his thumb and forefinger touched her chin tenderly and so she slightly flinched, but allowed him to tilt it up without further resistance.

Their eyes met again and a warmth spread through her lower belly forcing her to part her lips in order to let out a shaky breath. She squeezed her nether regions to control the floods of wetness threatening to soak her underwear. _Not again_...

“Do you believe that you are what she called you?”, he asked, his voice barely a vibrating whisper.

Andrea' s eyes stung as she grasped what he meant. She tried to brush it off, to pretend ignorance, but she was sure that her voice would betray her, “I don't know what you' re talking about”, and she looked away quickly wanting to avoid the impending humiliation.

“Liar...”, he muttered, but not accusingly, “ Look at me...”, the command came out so soft that she had no other choice but to obey. She couldn't understand why her body and mind reacted to him so easily, so wantonly. She felt like she wanted to do as he said because somehow being forced to meet his gaze offered her escape and a chance to give her control, over to him. But it was too soon to admit something like that even to her own self.

“ Your dancing is the purest thing I've ever witnessed, even if it's forced”, he began saying, his eyes glued on hers, offering no way out, “ Do you really believe that it makes you a whore, pet?”, he asked, brushing his thumb over the edge of her lower lip. That certain tone he used to coat the word “whore” ,made her stomach flip. How could he make it sound so erotic?

Andrea felt the sudden urge to dart out her tongue and lick the skin of his finger, but she forced this sick need back, focusing instead on the next lie, “No”. She knew that he could tell when she lied, but for some reason she kept doing it, as if it was her own way of teasing him. After that, everything quickened and then slowed down again in a matter of seconds.

“Liar”.

“I' m not sure”.

“Liar”.

“Maybe”.

“Now we' re getting somewhere”.

“Why do you care?”.

“Answer me”.

“Last night I did”, she finished it, turning her eyes away, yet still locked in his hold.

Without uttering another word, Loki handed her her balconette and she took it hesitantly, as if thinking that if she tried to reach for it he would take it away again. He took a step back, giving her space to breathe and to bolt off, like she used to do in situations that made her anxious, but to his surprise she stayed absolutely still, staring at the red, thin fabric in her hands.

After a moment she shoved it in her pocket and spoke slowly, not even knowing why she felt the need to inform him, “ I wont be dancing on Friday and Saturday”.

“And why is that?”, he asked curiously, a playful smile on his lips.

She started rubbing her fingers, avoiding his eyes, “ Repairs on the stage”.

“Will you be here though?”, he took a step towards her once again and watched as she cutely tucked a single strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, I' ll be serving drinks instead”.

“Is this a lie?”, he asked boldly, gently tilting her face towards him once again.

“No”, she simply said as they locked eyes.

There was this connection she felt developing between them every time they stared into each others eyes. Like the parts of a chain, linking together. 

He considered for a moment, “ Why are you telling me this little dancer?”.

She blushed, like she always did when he called her that, and although she had an inkling why she was informing him, she instead chose the safe way, “I don't know”.

He then smiled widely, making her suspicious of his motives or his thoughts generally and bent to take her hand in his. She jumped a bit backwards at the contact, but let him do what he wanted.

He kissed her knuckles gently, like he had done outside the coffee shop and whispered against her skin, “I shall see you tomorrow then”.

He let her go and Andrea, trapped somewhere between confusion, desire and shame, watched him walk towards the exit and disappear behind it.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. life advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea resumes her brief meetings with Loki and as usual keeps embarrassing herself around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you came back to read the chapter then thank you so much, although I don't know what came over you, ehehe. Well, if I have to be 100% honest with you I will have to admit that I don't really like the way I handled this chapter. I don't mean like, in the context of what I have included in it because trust me, I very much enjoyed writing some of the stuff you'll encounter. I mean it in terms of the words not clicking together. How do I say this? Basically, I don't really appreciate the vocabulary I've used in some parts. I hope you enjoy it though, despite the mistakes you might find in it! 
> 
> 1) the warnings for the chapter are quite a lot, let me walk you through real quick. We have strong language, attempted sexual harassment that does not end well for the harassers, graphic violence ( I am a sucker for detail), graphic and steamy nude lap dancing, sexual frustration/tension, unfortunate brief exhibits of mental illness (Andrea's first break down, you will see it unfolding in more detail in the future, that here is only a taste), fluffy fluff towards the end and mild teasing from our God's side.   
> 2) SPECIAL NOTE, PLEASE READ! : So, I want to clarify something so all potential misunderstandings can be avoided. Loki's views concerning the female body are views which I have specifically tailor made for my own specific portrait of Loki and they are not connected to my own beliefs or the original character. They just match the story perfectly because you'll see Loki ( my Loki, the way I perceived him) finding exactly what he wants in a woman's body. My personal opinion is that every one can be however the hell they want but that doesn't mean that I have to force myself to like it. The opinion I do share with Loki is that I too prefer my women ( yes, I am into the ladies as well) as Loki describes Andrea. That's all, I hope you understand my meaning and don't feel... offended or anything.   
> 3) something else which might seem a bit off. Loki had no chemistry or sex with Valkyrie whatsoever. Not in the movies, not in the comics. I just whisked their brief coupling out of my head because I wanted to create a contrast. So, don't go around thinking that they indeed shared something. 
> 
> So, thank you so much for sticking around, thank you for your kudos and your comments and for the support! I hope the chapter does not disappoint!

“So, Andrea how are you today?”, Miss Johnson asked as the younger girl sat at a chair across from her international advisor's desk.

They had an appointment once a month to discuss how things were going for Andrea, what with being an international student and all, how she coped with life in a city like Edinburgh, how were her classes going and generally stuff like that. All in all, the advisor was really keen on engaging into conversation and offer all the emotional support needed, as her profession indicated, but Andrea hated their little talks.

Miss Johnson was a nice young woman, with a lovely BBC accent and always perfectly manicured nails. She was cheerful and supportive, yet each time they met, Andrea did not get the feeling that she was being talked to, but instead interrogated and forced to report every little thing about her life, while going down memory lanes that weren't always happy, just like this past week's.

The advisor gave her a chance to talk, but could the poor student actually talk about what burned her soul day after day or who she had in her mind before going to sleep? No. She couldn't say a word about neither her nightly dances nor Loki, a restriction which made her choke in a puddle of angst.

“Oh, I'm fine, thank you for asking”, she lied and started playing with the edges of her woollen sleeves.

“Yeah? All good, really? Any problems with studying or teachers?”, she inquired in a friendly tone while writing something down on a paper sheet.

Andrea waved a hand dismissively, “ Nope. I mean, my classes are not the easiest and it's... more often than not that I have to do some extra research in order to understand some things, but I'm managing well so far”.

“Extra research you say? Like for better text comprehension? Is there vocabulary you do not recognise and that makes it difficult for you to understand meanings?”, she pressed and wrote again something on her paper.

“Well, I think there is always something incomprehensible or unrecognisable when you're reading and studying literature. That's the beauty of it, I believe”, she stated and looked down at her lap, expecting the next question, but instead she received praise.

“You know Andrea, even if you find difficulties sometimes, as you say, I' d like to tell you that your teachers are fascinated by the way you interpret text and character development. Actually, one of them, Mr Stein, has stated that when it comes to Shakespeare you explain things like you have actually lived in his century”.

Andrea laughed at that remark, “ Did he say that about me? I really thought he hated me”.

“He hates everyone darling. But, nonetheless, he says you are one of the best students he' s ever had”, the woman said, pointing her pen at Andrea, “ What' s your secret sweetheart? How d' you do it? He is dying to know”, she concluded.

Andrea shrugged, her lips forming a thin line, “ It's just a feeling in my gut, I guess, and loads of imagination. I must be honest Miss Johnson, especially in comedies, I believe Shakespeare might have been drunk while conceiving and writing them. I mean, those insults... remarkable”, she replied, faking a chuckle and making her advisor laugh hysterically. _Did she really find that so funny?_...

“I don't think you're wrong about that”, she agreed and moved on to the next question, “ So, on another note, how is your socialising going?”.

At that, Andrea's smile faded gradually, as she remembered all about Sam and Katherine and the whole misunderstanding. How was she going to explain that now? But then, did she really have to? Like, it's her personal life...

“Well, am, things are not so great right now, but I am sure they will become better in the future”, she nodded and gave a reassuring smile to make her answer look more convincing. It was also a hint that she did not wish to talk about it, but her advisor either did not get it or pretended not to get it.

“ How so? I thought you were friends with the American girl, Katherine, her name is, right? And some other boys from around here. What happened?”, she asked leaning back on her chair with calculating eyes.

 _Oh, stop that, Loki does that too_ , she thought spontaneously, before partly lying to the woman' s face, “Nothing happened. I just decided we didn't really fit together and so I thought it would be wise to distance myself and... search for something new”.

“I see. What about boyfriends then?”.

Andrea's eyes widened and she avoided answering immediately out of fear that her voice would shake. She couldn't hold back the burning sensation in her cheeks, as she thought of the one person she shouldn't be thinking of when asked such a question.

“No. There is no one and I intend to keep it that way. My main focus is my course. Relationships like that can be distracting and I cannot afford that”, she finally replied in a flat tone, as if she was reciting an extremely boring poem.

“Well yes, perhaps they are distracting but they can also offer inspiration and fuel imagination. And since your essays are partly based on imagination, as you say, I would suggest that you give a chance if one is presented, alright?”, Miss Johnson implored with a gentle smile.

Andrea simply nodded, briefly thinking about those chances her advisor was talking about. The idea of a relationship with Sam was scratched out before it even reached her mind. That boy would settle with fucking her and then dumping her, because that was simply his style. And she was fine with it, as many boys thought like that, especially in such a young age. But Andrea wasn't looking for a hook up.

The other chance... Was it even a chance? Or simply a game to unsettle her and amuse him? She was struggling to figure out his motives. Why he was approaching her every time they were close. How he was drawing her in, without even a word. Why had he defended her. Why, why, why, how...

She always hit a wall when fondling about with these questions and settled for believing the only truth she knew of men. What he probably wanted from her was to sweetly earn her trust, ruin her inside out and then leave her alone to pick up her pieces. But then again, she was conflicted about that possibility. She was conflicted about everything, now, in the past, all her life.

He was so different, somehow, from any man she knew. She had noticed it yesterday at the coffee shop and it was evident to her that when he saw her dance, each night, he didn't consider her as a simple piece of meat. How she knew that... she didn't understand. It must be something in his eyes, or in the eloquence in his words, or in the way he walks around like a Go-

“So, I think that's all for today sweetheart. It was lovely to see you are doing so well”.

Andrea's eyes darted quickly towards the now standing figure of Miss Johnson who was extending a hand. She got up herself and shook it, but before pulling away and walking out, her advisor asked about extracurricular activities.

“Have you ever given it a thought? It could massively help with your socialising”, she suggested, “ The university offers sports groups, dancing and theatre classes and so much more”.

 _That' s a little advertising for you_ , Andrea thought mockingly and shook the woman' s hand again, “ I will consider it, thank you”.

 

 

***

 

On her way home, she couldn't think of anything else but him and unfortunately these thoughts followed her inside her tinny tiny apartment.

While she separated her laundry according to colour and size, wrongly, she might add, her mind drifted to the time with him at the coffee shop.

The comfortable silence between them made her stomach flip in anticipation of yet another moment like that. The peacefulness in his usually stoic and intense face and the almost fluid way his hands moved, had been imprinted on her brain and wouldn't let her concentrate on simple tasks. Her own comfortability in sitting with another person more than two minutes, had surprised her greatly as well. She had written swiftly, freely, not caring about looking like some psycho who was trying to get the demons out of their head, or about that deep crease between her brows. And when they had talked, no matter how short the dialogues and how timid her words or how bold his expressions, it had been thrilling. Satisfying and deeply fulfilling. And it made her proud to have exchanged actual words with him, considering that she was... well, how she was and that he was... a God, in every aspect.

Damn it, she was 19 years old, nearly 20. She couldn't seriously be fostering such deep emotions for men. But there were no men like him. At least, she, had never met anyone who even came close to how Loki was. A man of absolute control with a seductive kind of maturity that both intimidated and excited her. She knew she was probably idolising him, but truly if she was to make a list of all the things she wanted in a man, Loki would have been the first choice.

She went on cooking a basic meal for the next three days. Taking a look at the ingredients left on her fridge and cupboards, she decided that a large portion of peas with potatoes, carrots and tomato sauce should do the trick, although deep inside she craved meat and wine. Perhaps next week she could go to the butcher's and buy some steak or pork chops to cook on the grill and as for wine, she could buy some cheap variety from the liquor store down the corner.

As she started to boil the peas in a metallic pot and to chop some potatoes, she took a brief look at her hands. _There it is, let's distract ourselves again,_ she thought exasperatedly _._ Letting down the knife, she closed her eyes and brought her knuckles to her lips attempting to bring back the jolt of pure electricity when his own thin ones had brushed themselves against this uncovered bit of skin. She moved a fingertip to the corner of her lower lip and reminisced the light touch of his thumb there, gently yet demandingly, turning her face to him, like it always happened in her beloved  movies and books. And when she had obeyed, oh how they had talked with their eyes, building a connection which she was too inexperienced to completely understand. She could only feel it for now. _Is feeling, better than understanding or does one understand because they feel? What am I supposed to do?..._

The food was ready after a while and now she was lastly moving onto the bed to change sheets and pillow cases when... _Do you really believe that it makes you a whore, pet?_ She shook her head defiantly. What kind of question was that? Why had he pushed her to admit the truth? To humiliate her? To gain something out of her shame? To show her the twisted eroticism that he could very easily inject into that damned word?

He must have a clandestine plan. From what she knew of him, he always did. _I shall see you tomorrow then_... his words echoed in her head, before a very familiar contracting feeling shook her belly, as it always did these days. That feeling of fearful anticipation. The feeling you get when someone has gotten under your skin so deeply that you can't scrape them off.

 

***

 

“Two whiskeys girl and fast”, a bulky man, dressed in a suit and tie, demanded giving a rude pat on Andrea's leather clad bottom.

She rushed to the bar whilst trying to avoid thrusting arms and calves. Apparently, the manager had decided that it was a good idea to unleash his trusted lap dancers all around the main area to dance on the spot for the customers, instead of bothering taking them upstairs to the private rooms, as was usual. The main area was quite enormous, but they were at least thirteen and when they did not climb on top of clients they used a lot of space to dance and thus it was difficult for the waitresses to move around easily. So far, she had managed. She had been serving drinks for two hours now and still no sign of Loki. Perhaps he wouldn't keep his promise after all. _God of Lies, Andrea, God of Lies_ , she mocked herself.

“Get me two whiskeys please”, she said to one of the girls behind the bar. That one, Angela was her real name, was quite nimble and had drinks ready in less than 5 seconds. She placed the ones Andrea had asked on the disk, but before she made to leave the girl spoke.

“Hey, let's exchange duties after this order alright? You seem tired of walking through the arena of beasts”.

Andrea chuckled at the girl's words and asked doubtfully, “ Are you sure? I am not as quick as you at preparing drinks. I' ll slow everyone down”.

The girl huffed and waved a hand in front of her face, “You' ll slow no one down. Things are quiet tonight”.

“You call this quiet?”, she cajoled and gestured behind her back.

“Little V, we've been through worse nights. You should have been here last year when that oaf of a manager decided to throw a masquerade party. Venice style”, she burst out laughing, but Andrea's eyes went wide from the pictures her mind began to form.

“I don't want to know the details. Thank you”, she joked and then added, “ In a second the disk is all yours”.

Andrea approached the two men's table and set down the two whiskeys, “Will there be anything else?”, she asked politely, well, as polite as one could be in a strip club/ brothel.

“Let me take a look at you”, the bulky one said while the other was already getting up to move behind her, “ Aren't you a nice young pussy?”.

“Yes she is indeed”, the one behind her agreed. His proximity made her feel nauseous. It was high time she acted. Perhaps she wouldn't get another chance.

“ Gentlemen, excuse me, but I do not take clients”, she stated sternly and tried to move away from them, but she was suddenly pushed forward almost landing on the bulky man's face. Her disk fell on the floor with a thump chocked by the music in the room and in one swift motion her jacket was torn off of her shoulders.

“Yes, you will, as soon as you see how much we' ll pay you”, said the man who was now tearing and tossing her jacket aside.

 _Not my leather you bastard,_ she thought and immediately screamed for Mr MacGregor as loud as she could. He didn't come. She looked around nervously and spotted the man attending to another situation at the far end of the room, oblivious to her request for help.

“Why are you shouting? Don't you like our company?”, the man behind her said and grabbed her breasts forcefully.

“Let me go now”, she shouted, but he only laughed at her weak threat and without the slightest bit of shame, pushed his hands underneath her bra and touched her nipples. He began to hiss in her ear how good she would feel while the other man started messing with the zipper of her leather trousers.

Her hopes of salvation were crumbling as her body was being teased in a violent and forceful way. She felt like throwing up, because of the smell of their breath and the texture of their skin upon her own, when suddenly something exploded, there, close to her heart. It started spreading all over her body, eventually escaping through the pores of her skin.

Well known, hedonistic anger consumed her pleasantly. Anger close to madness. Anger that shifted thoughts until emotion conquered over the mind. Since her teenage years, when the symptoms had first made an appearance, she had been resembling the feeling to viper's poison.

She twisted her head in circles, feeling every nerve stretch, suddenly deaf to all sounds but her breathing, “ Gentlemen, I had hoped it wouldn't come to this”, she stated calmly while her body welcomed the sweet rush of adrenaline.

She gritted her teeth and with unimaginable force, dropped her head backwards in the most abrupt manner, hitting hard the man' s face. She felt bone crack against the back of her skull and that urged her on elbowing him roughly at the rib. The man yelped in pain and released her automatically, as he fell haphazardly on the ground. She turned to the other who hadn't taken his hand from her zipper. Well, she could fix that. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it around savagely, causing a scream to erupt from deep within his chest. She then punched his face with her knee, surely breaking something there as well. Growling behind her still gritted teeth, she gave one last kick to his balls for good measure and watched him fall down from the chair.

“I said...”, she whispered to herself, “... I don't take clients”.

Obviously, Mr MacGregor had heard the men's screams and was now rushing to Andrea's side, apologizing in the process. Andrea wasn't listening though, as the buzzing in her ears had began. She saw the bodyguard grab the unconscious victims from their collars and drag them towards the exit, like they were sacks filled with feathers.

Peaking up the torn jacket from the floor, she pressed a hot palm to her forehead and made her way towards the bar, where Angela awaited with a half shocked, half ecstatic expression all over her face.

Mr MacGregor was about to open the exit door when Loki entered the room and almost bumped onto the unconscious bodies laid on the ground.

“Careful Sir”, the bodyguard said catching his attention. _Odin's beard, what..._ , he thought amusingly, as he observed the two men. Both of their faces were bloodied and he suspected that that was because of broken noses. One man's wrist was positioned in a peculiar way, as if it had been twisted with severe force.

“Mr MacGregor, what did these poor souls do to deserve such a firm hand? You've outdone yourself”, he chuckled, as he held the door open for the bodyguard to pass.

As the man dragged the first unconscious body through he gave Loki a half smile and replied, “ That wasn't me Sir”, and then continued while dragging the second, “ They assaulted one of the girls and she... she decided to take matters into her own hands”.

Loki found that hard to believe, since they were all so small and delicate in here or too high to even understand that they were being assaulted, except for-.

“ A girl did this?”, he commented indicating to the bloody faces, as MacGregor nodded positively, “Which girl?”.

“ I' m not sure if you know her Sir. She is a bit of a ghost around here and keeps a low profile...”, he scratched his head as if to remember something, “...Little V, aye, that's her stage name. Brave lass”.

Loki' s face suddenly became hard as a stone and all amusement drained out of him. Clenching his fists, he abandoned MacGregor and started pushing through men and dancers and whores in order to get to her. His mind was a blur, his heart pounded like a war drum and his balls were heavy with arousal, as he imagined the little dancer being not so little after all. What a sudden exhibition of violence was this and where had it come from?

Andrea had taken a seat on the floor behind the bar, where she was completely concealed from the madness in the room. She was resting her head on her bent knees, pressing the leather jacket against her chest, as if trying to stitch it back together with her mind's will. She breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, calming down from her episode. Oh, this type of anger was devious. It would finish as soon as it would start, but would subside with difficulty, leaving a dull ache in her head. Its aftershocks were now torturing her body and she found herself unable to stand up.

Angela had checked on her to see if she was alright, but she had waved her off, telling her that it was only the remnants of adrenaline that had her reduced to the floor. Without her jacket to cover her any more, she could not go back out there. The exposure made her feel weak and defenceless. It was one thing to be half naked on a stage which protected and offered you fast ways out and another to have to wonder through the horny and the drunk. She wished she could shrink into a ball of skin and bone and remain so forever, or at least until someone came to her rescue.

Loki approached the shaking figure with caution, having made his way behind the bench. She was desperately clutching at something made of leather, probably the jacket he had seen her wear the night before yesterday. As everything was a bit dark around them, he had initially thought that she was naked from the waist up, but after identifying the object in her hands he was somewhat relieved.

Perhaps she had heard his footsteps, for she snapped her head towards him and instantly cowered away, like a startled animal, although her eyes were neither wet from tears nor did they show signs of fear. He was grateful for that, especially after hearing her sigh inwardly. _It's you..._

By the look on his face, Andrea was sure that he knew what had commenced just now.

He moved a bit closer, experimentally. Her eyes darted first to his legs and then back at his face, as if questioning his wish to come nearer, but he did not stop. Instead, he took a seat on the floor opposite her, so they could be on the same height, and waited. Waited, for her to get rid of all the adrenaline he knew her body had been packed with only moments ago. Waited, until she felt comfortable with his proximity. Waited, because he knew that silence was better than words sometimes.

And so ten minutes passed in complete silence, although everything else around them was loud. And then more minutes passed and now it was like the absence of words had emulsified them into one silent person. Without perhaps noticing it, they had synchronised their breathing and they were staring at the exact same spot on the ground, until her eyes darted to his face. That was his signal to talk, slowly and directly.

“Did they rip it?”, he said casually. She simply nodded positively and clutched the leather tighter, as if she was holding the dead body of a beloved friend in mute mourning. Perhaps she was indeed in mourning.

When she had first acknowledged that she wasn't alone behind the bar, Andrea had shied away, her mind filled with the image of the disgusting man from before and the hold he had on her breasts. But after realising who it was, it was like a button had been pushed inside her making her feel, if not safe, at least, not threatened. He had sat with her and time had stilled and they were both free to simply relax, breathe and stare. Controlled and respectful, as he was, he had made sure to leave some distance between them and for that she thanked him inwardly.

Now she saw his figure shift a little bit and she realised that he was taking off his own jacket, leather as well, only larger and with golden accents instead of silver, as was in her own. He squatted down beside her and commanded in a tone that could not be disobeyed, “ Take mine”.

Her eyes darted to his lips and then to his eyes, where they stayed for a while. Just like she had felt last night, between the greens and the blues, a connection developed, like a bridge between two worlds, two souls, two people who knew so little about each other and yet so much.

Her fingers moved hesitantly at first, as she wasn't sure if it was proper to take something that belonged to him, even if it was his offer. Her own leather jacket was special to her in so many ways. It was an emblem of her tougher side and thus now that it was so brutally destroyed, she felt small and powerless. What if his own had a special meaning too and what if by taking it, she stripped him off of his protection? But it smelled so fresh and the fabric was just at the right side of rough and she could not resist the urge to feel it on her bare shoulders and back. To let it tingle her spine and caress her arms in the lover's way.

Loki had to admit that it suited her. Apart from the sleeves, which were a little big, it was a perfect fit, considering that she wasn't of a delicately thin build, like all the other women who had passed through his life, his bed, his path.

He had of course observed her body, from the swan like neck to her toned middle, to the wide pelvis and generous thighs down to the beautifully shaped muscle of her calves. Though feminine enough, her body was unlike any other he had seen or touched.

It pleased him greatly that she wasn't like most Midgardian females, who, obviously following some sort of stereotype, were either too skinny or not equally fat. Apparently these were the beauty standards of the century, yet to him, female sensuality and beauty revolved around structure and equality. And the little dancer was the absolute representation of his belief and preference.

She had the broadest shoulders he had ever seen on a woman, perhaps broader than Valkyrie's. The biceps and triceps were toned to perfection and if one observed closely enough, he would see that her forearms were strong too and that some pale green veins on them popped up more than others. This was probably muscle she had gained from the strenuous exercise on the pole, but it did not put him off in the slightest. He appreciated the idea of a woman able to support herself with her own arms, both literally and metaphorically. It appealed to his warrior's breeding.

While she was putting on the jacket, her knees had straightened a bit and her back had detached from where it rested against, resulting in revealing her stomach and belly. Loki had observed both of them when she was dancing the other night. How strong and unwavering the muscle there was, but his now new position allowed him to take a closer look and be surprised by the faults in his first deduction.

While he had originally thought the abdominals to be rigid and flat, he now realised that they were popping out of the skin only when she squeezed the certain body parts. They were carefully framed by feminine obliques, giving her whole core a lean and tall look. She wasn't curved up like Thor or like Val. She was leaning more to his physiology, where the muscle was not completely evident but was there, which greatly surprised him. A beautiful creature with all the freedom in the world to be delicate and not care about her core strength, for she was ravishing by nature's command, had instead the middle of a warrior and enough strength to throw men, twice her size, unconscious, as she had proven tonight. He was so used to women from Asgard who had no need to built themselves up, because the men assumed that role and so now that he was so close to a female of both beauty and firmness, he was having difficulty containing his arousal and admiration towards her.

They were both standing up now and he felt a giddy sensation overwhelm him. He could not deny the bit of pride in his grin, evoked from having her wear something of his, especially when she was so deliciously naked underneath. He was right in his second deduction, for now that her stomach and belly were relaxed, the muscle underneath was safely tucked inside her and all that remained was a flat surface of straw coloured skin.

He decided then and there that it was and would be one of his favourite activities to rake his eyes over her body, as each time he discovered or would discover another beautiful detail that he had missed.

This time, he revelled in the sight of not so thin a waist and pelvis. Although the muscle was still there, there was a lovely coat of extra skin covering it, which made his mouth water and his fingertips itch annoyingly. Oh how he would love to dig his digits into those juicier parts and sweetly bruise her, mark her as his. The thought sent shivers down his spine. He wasn't one for size zero waists. He wanted to touch and truly find something to clutch at. He briefly remembered that one time he had fucked with Valkyrie, before she chained him down on a stool and went to fetch his brother. It had been so difficult to touch her, for there was nothing to touch. All that muscle was so intense that he couldn't truly hold the person he was inside of. But that was not of importance now, as the little dancer was finally attempting to speak.

She whispered a timid thank you and looked down at the torn leather in her hands. Perhaps in the future he would ask her directly how she managed to keep her body in such a delicious shape, but right now, he had another question on his mind.

“Would you like me to repair it for you?”, he suggested, mind set on making her trust him with something she so treasured.

At the sound of that, Andrea practically threw her jacket on his face with hopeful eyes, “ Please...”, she begged and heard him chuckle playfully.

“You like leather, don't you little dancer?”, he coaxed as he took the torn pieces from her hands. Inspecting it briefly, he saw that it was only torn apart at the seams of the sleeves, as it would be humanly impossible to tear apart the leather itself. The fabric was rough and of good quality.

He moved around the bench and took a seat at a stool right in front of her.

“It's...”, she started hesitantly, “... kind of like my armour”.

“I know”, he acknowledged. Once upon a time he had felt the same. He would hide behind his leather and metal, protecting himself from any kind of betrayal. From the truth lying beneath his Asgardian form, but that was quite a deep thought to ponder on just now.

“Whiskey neat?”, she asked casually.

He tore his eyes from the fabric and looked at her with a wide grin, “ You know me so well”.

Andrea' s cheeks flashed red, as she nodded and went to fetch a glass. _Keep giving me grins like that and I might as well faint,_ she thought as she poured the brown liquid.

After that, her brain started to function properly again. Waitresses would come, ordering this and that and Andrea's hands would move swiftly all around the bar area, preparing cocktails and setting vodkas, techillas and all kinds of fizzy drinks on their disks, while keeping a watchful eye on Loki and her jacket.

On her occasional glances towards him, she would catch a glimpse of his magic and the way he manipulated it. His nimble and most capable fingers would move delicately in the air, producing fluid greenish essences, which he would then direct at the seams of her jacket.

She took a tentative step closer to see better and to her astonishment, she witnessed the thin threads piercing through the fabric on their own accord, stitching it back together. She had never seen something like that before. She had never seen magic and she had never seen such skill.

A smile crept up on her lips, as she thought how good he was with his hands, but she pushed the thought away once she spotted Angela waiting with more orders.

 _If only you trusted me enough, I'd show you little dancer just how good I am with my hands_. He paused the repair spell for a bit to look at her. She was moving around again, this time preparing some sort of complex cocktail with absolute focus. While she rubbed spices between her palms, Loki took a moment to appreciate her with his jacket still on. There was something about the way it accentuated her waist and hip bones that made his mind wander to places it shouldn't, distracting him greatly from his task.

He shook his head and rolled up his sleeves murmuring the spell under his breath once more. Normally, he would only have to summon the words in his mind, but the way she moved or the way she stuck her tongue between her teeth every time she poured liquids, would make him lose focus and the spell would drop. Aeons of experience in the fields of magic and mystic arts and yet the little dancer managed to make him forget even the basest of spells.

Andrea was adding the rum and cherries to the high columned glass when a pissed off Angela came to the bar, took a seat at a stool and cursed the holy heavens.

“Fucking idiot”, she spat setting down the disk angrily.

“Are you okay?”, Andrea asked abandoning the cocktail for a moment.

The girl huffed in frustration, “No I am certainly not. Can you pass me a napkin? That asshole came all over my leg”, she requested and Andrea obliged with a semi disgusted look on her face.

“I' m sorry”, she apologised and also gave some hand wash to the unfortunate girl, to get rid of the smell as well as the stain.

“ Thanks”, she said and began rubbing her skin in circles, “ Hell, I just wish I could have done what you did. You know, back there, when those two put their hands on you. That was... bad-ass”, she remarked. 

Andrea couldn't help a proud half smile, but quickly reprimanded herself.

She was truly ashamed of having had to resort in such primal ways in order to free herself, but if she wanted to be honest, her temper had gotten the better of her, something that hadn't happened in two years. She smiled kindly at the girl and thanked her for her comment, but then rushed to add, “ … although I shouldn't have handled it like that”, and then turned back to her cocktail.

“Are you kidding me? You smashed his face with your knee, it was epic. You have to teach me how to do that sometime. I practically heard his nose cracking open all the way to the bar. Seriously, are you like, Steve Rogers' little sister or something, because...”, she kept on mumbling uncontrollably and Andrea let her, smiling from time to time to show that she was indeed listening while she prepared two more cocktails for her to take to the clients.

Her eyes darted briefly to Loki and she shamefully noticed that he had stopped the repairs on her jacket and was instead listening to the girl's gushing with an intense and fascinated look on his face.

When he returned her gaze Andrea's skin caught fire and she averted her eyes instantly.  _Fuck._ If she had known that he was listening to the dreadful retelling of her deeds, she would have shut up Angela earlier. Now he would probably think that she was some kind of savage animal. 

“Alright, alright, thank you for all your kind words and graphic descriptions. Drinks are ready, here”, she cut off and placed the drinks on the girl's disk.

“Little V, you got to learn how to accept praise you know”, she cajoled, ruffling Andrea's short hair just a bit, before she made her way towards the crowd.

She scratched her head nervously and looked around for something to do in an attempt to avoid Loki's smiling, smug face. Thankfully, she spotted some used Scotch glasses at the corner of the bar bench and rushed to retrieve them, when an all too familiar voice stopped her.

“Your armour is ready my lady”, he informed in a stern tone, making Andrea turn around as fast as lightning. She came to stand in front of him, eyes alight and hands extended.

He gave it to her and she took it impatiently, like a child receiving a new most wanted toy. She turned it around, inspecting every angle and marvelling at it. Was this really her five year old, worn out jacket?

“This isn't just repaired. It's brand new!”, she looked at him with a wide smile on her face and Loki couldn't help but smile back, “Thank you so much Sir”, she said and clutched it tight to her chest.

He simply nodded his welcome before inputting, “ Will you stop calling me Sir? You make me feel old, and I' m only 1.000 something”, he joked and she giggled delightfully, gifting him with a zany smile, something she had never done before in here. This time, they were not sitting in a quiet corner at a coffee shop, but in the very place she felt ashamed of working in.

Andrea toyed with the idea of not calling him Sir, for a bit. Did he want her to use his princely titles? That should be it. He was a prince after all, right? He couldn't really want her to call him by his name... that would be... ridiculous. Calling someone by their name was an intimate act for her and something one should indulge in only with family, friends and lovers. He was nothing of the sort.

“Little V, two shots of techilla and an Apple Martini please”, she heard a waitress call.

She blinked, interrupting their staring contest. She hadn't realised she was doing it and she certainly hadn't realised that he was doing the exact same thing. When all eye contact was broken, she mumbled a polite, “Excuse me”, and to the girl waiting, “ Coming”.

Loki watched her as she walked away, abandoning her newly made jacket in the surface in front of him, still wearing his own. Confused and abashed, as she was, she messed up the order a couple of times before getting it right.

Out of nowhere, her words came to his mind, to remind him of her sense of gratitude. _You' re nice to me, both in here and... in other places. You can't be all that bad._ Their honesty was profound and they warmed his heart in an unfamiliar way. It was something more than satisfaction and something less than pride that he felt. Something unknown for the time being. But how could he trust feelings he could not even name?

After a while, Andrea was done with the drinks and was now swiping clean the bench, just in case any liquids had spilled. Lazily scanning the room, half tired, half bored, half wanting to go to him, her gaze suddenly concentrated on a completely naked lap dancer.

The woman was beautiful, if she wanted to be honest with herself. Her long golden hair fell like waterfalls upon her shoulders and breasts and a couple of times, small strands would find resistance against her extremely hardened nipples, making her look even more sexual and exotic under the dim lights. It was like her body was painted in golden stripes. Completely shaved and oiled with some kind of slippery lotion lap dancers always used, the woman glided her hands down her body teasingly before climbing on top of her client, positioning her strong legs on either side of his lap. Andrea's mouth watered when she dropped her head back exposing the white column of her throat while tweaking her nipples, allowing the man underneath her to feast his eyes upon her body with no qualms and no shame. The fact that the man was good looking only made things sexier. She began grinding against his clothed member, at first slowly, and then faster and faster, set on accomplishing her task. He couldn't touch her, but she could touch him. That was the one simple rule of lap dancing, as she had been informed. The man was now frustrated and was groaning like a little abused animal under the woman's ministrations. Andrea's mind was instantly filled with questions and personal inward moans. Would he come within his trousers or would the dancer fail? How would she be able to make him ejaculate just by grinding against him, was that even possible? Before she even realised it she was anxiously biting her lip, circling her belly button absent-mindedly in silent anticipation, while her brain was dancing foxtrot with her horny hormones.

Loki observed, hard beyond belief, how she stared at the naked dancer with lust and curiosity filled eyes. His little flower had gradually paused cleaning and was now clutching a towel with one hand while circling her belly with the other. At first he had been confused with her change of demeanour, but one glance at where she was looking had given him all the answers he needed.

The blonde woman moved like an alluring cobra, as she grind her cunt against the man's cock, like it was her life's mission to please him. With her waist bent and hair like molten gold caressing her bare shiny skin, she kept thrusting harder and faster by the second, set on unmanning her poor victim. They looked thrilling, for sure, but Loki was not interested. He preferred watching his little dancer observing them closely, for in these moments, she revealed to him another side of herself. Angry, horny, depraved. But her constant shyness, she could have been his female version, if he didn't have one already.

Chuckling to himself, he hopped off his seat and moved a couple of stools closer to her, dragging her jacket and his drink with him. He was extremely careful not to distract her with his movements.

Grinning devilishly, he suggested in a low seductive tone, reserved only for her ears, “We can join them if you want”.

Andrea was so concentrated on the dancer that she hummed approvingly at the suggestion, paying no actual mind to the voice. Yet after doing a double take towards its direction, she realised in shock and horror who had spoken.

Her senses returned all at once resulting in her jumping slightly on the spot and throwing the towel she was holding, behind her back. It landed on some glasses on a shelf making them fall down and shutter. She squeezed her eyes shut and haunched her shoulders at the sound.

Shame flooded her as he began to chuckle lightly and her stomach flipped in that delightful way. She mentally prepared herself for the teasing she was about to receive, but to her surprise, it didn't come.

“For a dancer, you are very clumsy”, he stated instead, amusingly, and downed his drink.

She half smiled at that and rested her knuckles against her cheeks to cool the skin off. Without speaking, she turned her back to him in order to clean the mess she had made, praying that he wouldn't bring up the subject of her self- indulgent staring. She wasn't that lucky.

“Beautiful, isn't she?”, his sultry tone vibrated through her, resting a bit longer in the space between her legs. Those bass tones did things to her...

She turned her face towards him, as he stared at the woman who was now climbing off the man's lap with banknotes in her hand. Apparently, she had been successful in reducing him to nothing but a moaning mess, as his face was flashed red and his chest heaved slightly. She moved away from him and started walking gracefully backstage, hips swaying from side to side with no inhibition whatsoever. Andrea admired that kind of freedom, that kind of confidence. But she knew that in a place like this, those two graces were used wrongly.

“She moves nicely”, she chocked out, not answering directly to the dark haired man in front of her and averted her eyes from the woman's figure as an odd sensation began overtaking her. It was an entirely new and sexy experience to stare at naked people with the God Of Mischief at your side, although Andrea would never admit that. It was best to change the subject while she still could.

She cleared her throat and said, “ Would you like a ref-”, but then she stopped abruptly, as a certain leather strap caught her attention.

It was there, wrapped around his wrist tightly, securely, as if it was supposed to be there. As if it was a natural part of his arm. As if it now belonged to him, forever. Or perhaps she was too romantic to think of it otherwise. She parted her lips to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat. Or they got stuck in her heart, for that was where she felt them vibrate the most.

Loki turned around slowly to witness her widened shocked eyes and listen to her shaky breath. It was evident to him that she had seen it.

“You... ah you... you kept that...”, she managed to stutter, but even that came out distant and disbelieving, as if the possibility of him wanting to keep something of hers was entirely unheard of.

He caressed the stripe with his forefinger, while Andrea watched half confused and half mesmerised. She clutched at his leather jacket and brought its edges closer to her body, as if needing protection. Had she realised she was still wearing his own?

“My mother once told me that if a woman gives you a piece of herself, you should keep it and cherish it. Giving it to you must have costed her something”, he quoted softly, Frigga's image all over his tortured mind.

Andrea inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to control her rapid heart rate and to come to terms with the many truths held in his mother's words, “Wise woman, your mother”, she agreed, knowing exactly what had costed her to give him this small token of trust.

“She was”, he simply said and looked deep into her eyes with a bit of sorrow in his own.

Irises were locked again, bound in comforting silence for what felt like centuries. She wanted to come closer and console him, for she knew about his mother's ghastly passing. Bringing her words to his mind must have pained him. Yes, it did. Andrea read it in the crease between his brows.

He wanted to soothe and calm her with his hands and lips and body and with everything that made him who he was, for he knew that he couldn't be the only one with tragedies in his life. But in that moment, all their reason for sorrow and all their needs for comfort were unimportant.

They talked with their eyes and that was enough for now. _It's only you and me_ , his words echoed in her mind, bringing a half smile to her face.

“Little V, what are you still doing here? Your shift ended ten minutes ago”, Mr MacGregor interrupted.

Andrea and Loki came back to reality with a jolt, as if they had been shocked by a rejuvenator. He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact and she began swirling around in confusion and awkwardness. They felt like lovebirds who had being caught in the act.

“Sorry, aahh, I lost track of time. I' m leaving now, sorry”, she mumbled more to herself rather than the two men.

She took off Loki's jacket and gave it back, thanking him again and doing her best to ignore his smirk. She squatted down by the corner, where her things rested, and with not so graceful moves, she put on her under shirt and black turtle neck sweater from yesterday, not caring about her hair sticking out awkwardly. She grabbed her leather jacket from in front of Loki and put it on in a haste, while balancing her bag at her hip, to take out her phone.

“May I escort you outside darling?”, Loki suggested while he watched amused how she struggled to straighten her clothes and look graceful.

She nodded approvingly, a little uncertain about it.

He walked her outside and once on the chilly and haunting side walk, Andrea felt the need to speak to him again, for the sake of getting her voice out there in the freeze of the night, “ Thanks again for... for my jacket and for... letting me use yours for a while”, she stuttered, as a cold gush of wind penetrated her, making her eyes water a little.

Loki took a step forward, black strands of hair falling on his eyes from the sudden wind, and Andrea's memory took her back to last light. _Do you really think that it makes you a whore?..._ The memory of that word and how it had been voiced made her insides throb. She brought herself back to the present quickly, hoping that the cold would bring her back to her senses.

“It was my pleasure”, he said in that hoarse bass tone that always made her lose all rational thought.

He then bowed slightly to take her hand into his own, but this time she was prepared for the lovely jolt when his lips touched her knuckles in the most gentlemanly way.

“You always kiss my hand before we part. You don't have to. A simple goodnight would be enough”, she wondered aloud, teeth cluttering nervously and not only from the cold. She wasn't ready for his response.

“I disagree”, he said, his eyes never leaving hers, “Your hands should always be kissed”.

The words rolled off his tongue like a promise that would surely be kept. Frozen on the spot by his intense gaze, her heart flattered and as if knowing he smiled.

He let her go then and with one final look started walking towards the opposite direction and into the darkness. She snapped out of her trance in the blink of an eye and began walking too, slower than usual.

 _What kind of man are you Laufeyson?_ , she wondered and she glanced behind her shoulder to look at him one last time. But he had disappeared. The night had swallowed him and shielded him out of her reach.

 


	6. the touch of dreams and reality's kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea and Loki have established a good bond, well, as good as a bond can be between two strangers. In this chapter, Andrea will discover interesting information about Loki's sexual orientations and Loki will get to know her a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I hope you have had a great week so far! Well, first of all, I have to say that I feel so good and confident about this chapter. I don't know if you've read the notes on the previous one, but I wasn't really feeling it. But can I just say that this chapter... felt so beautiful to write. I like everything. My syntax, vocabulary, scene sequence, everything, literally. I hope you enjoy it as well!  
> 1) so, separate warnings would be: a poetic sex dream ( or is it more than a tease, I don't know), strong language, masturbation, rough kissing, some man to man action (wink), a bit of a descriptive mention of a threesome.   
>  2) SPECIAL NOTE, PLEASE READ: So, I wanted to say that I am going with what is depicted in the comics and Norse Mythology in general as Loki's sexuality, which is pansexual. That, of course, doesn't mean that I'll have him sleep with anything that moves. No. This story is about two people (of different genders) coming together and finding what they need in each other. Now, the reason I am mentioning Loki's sexuality is because it will occasionally show as the story unfolds. Same as Andrea's (who is bisexual), but it will not distract them from each other.   
> 3) this is a bit of a spoiler but I have to mention it. During Loki's, how to put this, after sex session, with the male prostitute, he mentions a lot about him being "a young man" or blah blah blah, "the younger man" or sometimes he calls him " little (name)". These adjectives are there mainly to make you understand who is who and to create a mild contrast in their ages. Now, when I mean contrast, I don't mean that Loki is an old man and the male prostitute is 16 years old (lol). In my mind, this younger character (whom I love and would like to include in other chapters too), is 24. I mention this is the text as well. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading the story! I would suggest to buckle up for the next two chapters because... the plot thickens!

_She lay upon the softest silk ever made, while around her danced glimmering lights, which looked like they had life of their own. From somewhere distant she could hear waterfalls and the light breeze of night, which made the tree leaves rustle and the grass hiss. Being terribly aware of the natural beauty of this breathtaking place, it struck her as odd for a soft bed to be in the middle of, what seemed to be, a forest. How bizarre, but then wasn't everything around her so?_

_She tried to get up, wanting to explore this magical patch of land, but she realised she couldn't. Pulling her arms and legs as hard as she could, while panic was starting to overtake her, she realised that she was bound and subdued upon those sinfully soft sheets. She looked to her arms, which rested at the sides of her head, but noticed no ropes or cuffs or shackles, only beautiful pale skin and tired fingers. She looked down the length of her body and that was when she gasped in surprise. She only now realised that she was utterly bare, from her firm breasts to her long legs, which were slightly spread and bent at the knees. She was not in an obscene position, but rather in an alluring one. Spread, just enough to be exposed and feel the vulnerability heat her cheeks and chest._

_She struggled a bit more against the invisible binds, but the longer she did that the more exhausted she became, to the point where her eyes would flatter lethargically and her head would drop to the side, a cheek caressed by the silk each time. Everything was peaceful in this position and although restrained by some unseen force, she had never felt more free. Her embarrassment was now subsiding, initiating a devious wetness between her legs which ran through the soft, untamed curls of her womanhood onto the beautiful silk._

_Then she heard his laughter, echoing inside her lightweight head and when she opened her eyes again, a majestic, feline like body was laid on top of her immobilised one. A small smile appeared on her lips. She knew him. She wanted him, no matter how unnatural or scary._

_She should have been scared of the way his menacing, godly features were contorting into a satisfied grin. She should have been annoyed by how helpless she was now that his weight pressed her into the mattress in a deliciously trapping manner. She should be mad for letting herself being treated like this and offered like a sweet sacrifice to a violent god. She should be ashamed of how his hardness pressed against her most intimate spots. Ashamed of having his toned waist spread her legs obscenely wide to accommodate him. Ashamed of how she kept fidgeting in order to have more of his skin. Ashamed of how loud her heart beat in her breast and of how her core throbbed for more. But she wasn't._

_Within the time of a flattering eyelash, he was holding in his palm crimson rose petals, which smelled like the first day of spring and dripped rain water. She watched, enchanted and aroused, as he took one petal between his teeth, with care, and then proceeded in torturing her willing body with it._

_Lean but strong arms were propped on either side of her head, as he dragged his feline body upwards, forcing her legs to spread wider to the point where her soles could not touch the mattress. The new position made her moan from the sudden stretch of her inner thigh muscle, but oh how she liked it. She swallowed and parted her lips, her eyes falling shut, until his leaning closer to her face brought her back to the land of the living._

_He dragged the rose petal across her lips, moistening them with the dripping water. As she let out her shaky breaths, he moved the petal down her throat, leaving a wet trail, and in no time, reached her nipples. He took his time with each one, circling them with the light touch of the flower in his mouth, wetting them and then blowing cool air on them, forcing them into tight, itchy buds. At that, she gasped, she writhed, she struggled, but to no avail._

_She heard him tut in disapproval before continuing down her body, to her stomach and belly. He drew aimless patterns there before discarding the used petal and putting another dripping one between his teeth._

_With his face now between her legs, he snaked his forearms around her thighs, huge pale fingers digging themselves into her delicate skin, and began spreading wider and wider, evil green eyes fixed on her yearning ones._

_Little dancer, she heard a whisper inside her mind, before she felt the light dragging of the petal up and down her-._

 

 

 

Andrea woke up with a moan on her lips, sweat across her forehead and chest, burning cheeks and wetness pooling between her legs. She buried her face in her hands and rubbed it all over in an attempt to relieve the tension, but she soon came to terms with the fact that she was rubbing the wrong spot. She sat up on the bed with her hair dishevelled, whimpering like a little kid who was denied candy and tried to stop herself from doing what she really wanted to do.

 _You put this dream in my head. Bastard, you're messing with me, that's it. Glimmering lights and silk sheets? I know you Laufeyson, I got you! A fucking bed in the middle of a fucking forest? Couldn't you think of something better? That's how you are with all your women?_ , she kept thinking maniacally, pissed off and horny beyond comprehension. _You're the cruellest person I know, damn you...like this with all your women...ah..._ She slowly sank back down on her bed, eyes closed, mind slowing down. _A forest... perhaps it didn't even exist... perhaps it was only your eyes I was seeing..._ Hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her panties, she slid them off without rush and dropped them on the floor. _Come back_ , she begged. _Don't leave me alone_...

Before she even knew what she was doing, she parted her legs and she imagined the forest, the waterfalls, his eyes, his touch, his smell, his weight, his hands... everything... everything that could reconstruct the dream.

She ran her hands down her body and without hesitation, dragged a full palm over her sex. She gasped when she realised how wet she was. Her aching jewel was raw and sensitive and it throbbed tortuously. She used her other hand to part her folds and stretch that tiny bit of flesh that demanded attention. She began rubbing it slowly at first, moaning at the waves of pleasure that rushed through her. With the picture of Loki on her mind, abruptly pushing his body upwards, spreading her legs painfully, while she got lost in the sea of his eyes, it didn't take her long to come hard and fast.

But she did not stop. She rubbed through the first peak, causing her walls to convulse for a second time, resulting in more juices to stain the bed and then she managed to come for a third time, the hardest one and the last. Her eyes shut abruptly and her mouth formed a lovely O. Her breaths were coming so fast she was afraid she would ran out of oxygen. Her toes curled and uncurled a few times, trying to bring the blood back in.

It took her a long time to recover from her little act and as soon as her mind was able to form thoughts, she noted that it was the oddest thing, to come like this while thinking of someone's body splitting you in two, without even entering you.

 _A damned petal... between your teeth..._ She fell asleep again, spent and hopeful that he would come back in her dreams to finish her off.

 

***

 

Loki was coming down the stairs, satisfied and fulfilled, after having engaged in that beautiful coupling he had craved for a few days now.

Benjamin, the man he had slept with, and whose name he knew against the rules, was the absolute release he had been looking for. The sheer animalistic carnality of fucking another man was something that Loki hadn't indulged in ten years or more and he was just now coming to terms with just how much he had missed it.

All the frustration and all the new feelings he was experiencing in such short amount of time for the little dancer were still there, of course, but at least the heaviness of sexual yearning had been tempered down. Benjamin's part in that had been versatile, as the much younger male had freely surrendered his body to Loki's unfulfilled need, anger, confusion, madness, depravity and as the experienced lover Loki was, he had afterwards offered his affection and attention tenfold. He considered it the utmost cruelty to leave a lover alone after such intense sessions, especially one as young and soft as Benjamin.

He turned to look at the man beside him one more time, partly to make sure he was alright, and partly because he was simply beautiful. His hair was slightly curly and painted in a deep brown, a particular shade that reminded Loki of his beloved, yet long gone horse. Prominent cheekbones and a tight jaw, much similar to his own, brought out even deeper dimension to his face. Midgardians could be boring, but some of them, at least, did not luck beauty.

Loki waited until Benjamin descended the last step before attacking him with his mouth. He gently threw him against the nearest wall and trapped him there, between his body and the tapestry, by placing his arms on either side of the younger man's head. He attacked again, his tongue moving passionately in demand of more access. He dominated the kiss easily and in response, Benjamin melted into it and tangled his fingers through raven locks, occasionally tugging or simply caressing.

Each time they'd pause for breath, Loki would whisper sweet nothings into the man's ear or against his lips, making him whimper delightfully.

“Do you know what fantastic a fuck you were sweet one?”, he said hoarsely, tugging at Benjamin's lower lip playfully.

The man chuckled, “ I can say the same about you Mr Laufeyson”.

Loki grinned widely at the returned praise and grabbed a fistful of the eager man's hair. He wasted no time in delving into the newly exposed, strained skin of his partner's throat. He sucked purple bruises and nibbled pulse points with vigour, until his victim was hard again.

“I think I've prepared you well enough for your next client”, Loki cajoled returning upwards, to the man's lips. He licked them teasingly, dauntingly, as he watched Benjamin's dark eyes gain a new hungry and lustful glimmer, “But I do not believe I'm done yet”.

They engaged in another deep kiss, tongues exploring, always eager, always wanting more and more. Sometimes in search of an area they hadn't yet explored, sometimes needing a gentle tug to be reminded of their place and sometimes yearning for a rough battle accompanied by the forceful yanking of hair and the occasional bite that would send both of them walking on the thin line between worship and desecration.

Andrea was just entering the main area, when she saw the two men. Her breath hitched in her throat and her eyes went wide. She recognised the younger one to be Benjamin. She recalled having seen him around here only a couple of times, as he did not work everyday like she did, but for the time being, he seemed rather occupied.

Loki was kissing him with a kind of ferocity unknown to her. He bruised his mouth and marked his neck with absolute concentration and yearning, as if his very life depended on it or as if he needed to satisfy a primitive side within him that wasn't easy to control.

She watched transfixed, as he pressed his hard body against the half naked 24 year old and how he pinned him mercilessly on the wall, giving him no chance of escape. And when he caught the man's tongue between his lips and started to suck, Andrea lost it.

She had always enjoyed sexual intimacy between men, more so than between women, and it would be a lie if she denied having watched gay porn a couple of times. Maybe more than a couple of times. But this was entirely different, not only because it was transpiring right in front of her eyes, but also because whatever attraction she felt towards what Loki was doing, was successfully pushing her mind into a dark pit of thoughts she never had before. Thoughts of her body, naked and flustered, hot and needy, pressed between their own two bodies. Young, lush, hungry mouth biting down on her shoulder, forcing her to drop her head back, while pale thin lips dominated over her exposed neck. Skin against skin. Hardness about to invade her from both sides, slowly and tortuously, until she begged for more...

“I think we have a rather intrigued audience”, Benjamin gasped against Loki's lips, stopping for a minute to catch his breath.

Andrea noticed that they had both ceased their session in a quite confusing manner. But when Benjamin whispered something to Loki and then glanced towards her direction she realised she just might have been caught staring. It didn't take long for Loki to turn his head to the side and catch her eye, in a gaze intense and full of lust.

She froze on the spot. The very thing that she shouldn't allow her body to do, is exactly what happened. _Idiot, just move, leave_ , she kept scolding herself, but her body would not obey and as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he grinned that devilish grin of his. _Oh my... you have work to...do_ , but the reprimanding was cut short by Loki's shameless actions.

Without breaking eye contact with her, he slowly dived back into Benjamin's mouth, licking and sucking smoothly, silently challenging her arousal, experimenting with her limits. His stare burned holes in her body and now her breaths were coming faster, as he increased the pace of his ministrations, giving her the show she so craved. Her lips parted to allow a chocked moan to escape, one that made her blush furiously and one she hoped he did not hear. She briefly wondered if any others of his senses were heightened, such as his sense of smell, because if it was, then any attempt at concealing her overgrowing wetness would be futile.

It took every ounce of her determination to tear her embarrassed face away from him and move fast behind the bar to begin her shift. She haphazardly put her stuff to a secure spot under the bench and squatted down to adjust her attire.

For the first time in the three months she was working here, she felt grateful for having to discard her sweater, as her skin burned hot from the previous encounter. She put on her trusted leather and got into work, taking as many orders as she could, cleaning every surface around her and generally doing everything to keep her mind occupied and her gaze away from the two men, who were still ravishing one another.

Loki disentangled himself from Benjamin a lot of minutes later and took a step back in order to look into the soft brown eyes of the man in front of him. He brushed his thumb over the luscious and bruised lips chuckling, when the young man darted his tongue out and licked the skin of his finger.

“Aren't you charming...”, he muttered amusingly, but then added in a more serious tone that caught Benjamin's attention, “... but we have to part now. There is someone very special waiting for me in that bar”, he concluded, turning around to check on the little dancer.

“So I figured”, Benjamin smiled knowingly.

“What are you smiling about?”, Loki asked casually, turning the man's beautiful face towards him.

“Little V doesn't take clients you know”, he stated information already known to Loki, “ She made it pretty clear last night. I heard those two guys ended up in hospital”.

“Yes, I've recently discovered too that she has a firm hand”, Loki acknowledged, but then caught a glimpse of sorrow in the man's eyes, “ But I'm sensing there is a deeper meaning behind your words. Am I correct, little Benjamin?”, he whispered, as it was forbidden to use his real name.

“All I'm saying is... don't... break her, please”, he swallowed thickly and looked down, trying to gather his thoughts, “The girls in this place talk, okay, and... they work here because they want to or because they have accepted it, as have I, but Little V... she is here out of need Mr Laufeyson. And I might not know her that well, but she seems like the type to... “, he struggled to find a proper way of saying this, but he had to, “ Well, if any other girl in here gets her heart broken, she' ll ask you to pay her double for the trouble she got herself into. But if you break that girl's heart, she will either kick the shit out of you or... die. She is a romantic one”, he finally said leaning a bit closer as if wanting to find some support.

Loki stared into those deep, begging eyes and furrowed his brows, dumbfounded by the honesty that was pouring out of Benjamin's heart. This boy had good in him, maybe more than he should, as he so naively cared about people he didn't even know. Loki hadn't been around such true emotions for years.

He considered the information carefully and for one more time reminded himself the reasons why Andrea wasn't something he could just use and then throw aside. She indeed worked in two modes. Should he hurt her, she would either get angry and, as Benjamin had said, kick the shit out of him, injuring herself in the process or she would reduce herself to nothing more than a used toy and proceed in hating herself forever. In his mind, perhaps she was the type to love hard, or not love at all, and that, he respected.

“Such compassion...”, he whispered to the young male and smiled down at him, leaning in for a last feather like kiss.

When he pulled away, his eyes instantly locked with brown irises in a confiding gaze and he said hoarsely, “ Thank you for tonight sweet one. Like I said, you were a fantastic fuck”, and watched as the young male smiled widely at the praise, forgetting all about his previous sorrows and worries.

“Will I see you again?”, he asked as Loki made his first few steps away towards the bar.

“Perhaps”, Loki said behind his shoulder, giving him a wink full of promise and filth and then continued his way towards the true holder of his heart, the one person that had really gotten under his skin.

As usual, he sat at a stool, but before he opened his mouth to order, a familiar small glass was placed in the surface in front of him and a quick hand poured his standard drink.

“Here you go”, the little dancer said, before her nimble, yet a bit shaky, fingers moved on preparing an extravagant cocktail with olives and apple slices.

Andrea tried hardly to keep cool, as she placed cocktail after cocktail on disks, while hopelessly trying to avoid him, especially now, today, this instant, after having caught her eyeing him on a private moment, but it was impossible. His eyes were following her everywhere, fascinated by every little thing she did.

“You're avoiding me”, he suddenly said, catching her attention before she sank her hands into the sink to wash some glasses.

Without looking at him, she lied, “ No I'm not... I'm just working”. She hoped that he wouldn't dwell on it, but then did she really?

A part of her wanted to keep avoiding him, because speaking was uncomfortable, especially after having very much enjoyed her live porn. And another part of her, was glad that he had spoken first, because deep in her heart, she yearned to talk to him, and not just about anything, but about something personal. Intimate. A subject that mattered, although she would blush like crazy as soon as she would hear the vibrations in his voice.

She was never good at small talk. She preferred to talk about something deep rather than something shallow. And she wanted to talk to him, in particular, and not to anyone else, because she loved that feeling in her belly, every time she had to think of intimate things in front of him, whether that was to satisfy his curiosity or hers.

People did not know this, but she liked her shyness and her introversion for a very simple reason. When you are extroverted, everyone talks to you and everyone expects you to talk back. But when someone approaches a nature such as hers and shows interest... that feeling... that... attention, means the world.

“Okay... I... I am avoiding you”, she admitted with blushing cheeks. Glancing up at him to check for reactions she was not surprised to see the devious smile on his lips. For a man to whom lying was second nature, he really liked the truth.

“And why is that?”, he inquired, but he already knew the answer. He wanted her to say it, expecting her red cheeks and pounding heart, like flowers expected rain.

“I guess... I'm a little embarrassed about... about before”, she started drying the last glasses with a towel, eager to do something with her hands, “I didn't mean to... stare and... interrupt your affairs. I was just... am... I-”, she stammered. _Interrupt your affairs? Who says that?_ , she huffed inwardly, losing her trail of thought completely.

Loki was treated to what he wanted, but it was more than he had asked for. She got all flustered more than was necessary. She messed up her words and struggled to form sentences and with English not being her native language, he understood that it was great frustration for her not to be able to express her mind. He instantly decided to end her misery. His intention hadn't been to make her have a heart attack. He had merely wanted to unsettle her.

“Little dancer...”, he cooed softly and Andrea snapped out of whatever confusion she had put herself into. She gently entered the warmth his eyes provided and allowed herself to be locked there. This kind of intensity and then sudden relaxation, she had experienced with no one before. She didn't dare move or speak. She simply waited for his voice.

“There's no need for shame when something or... someone... gives you pleasure”, he said in that sultry voice of his, devious smile never abandoning his lips.

Her stomach began to jump up and down at his words and her womb followed suit. She repeated the sentence again and again, in her own mind, to make sure she had heard correctly and once she confirmed it, she did everything in her power to stop the playful twitch of her lips. She breathed deeply and thankfully forced it down.

“Sir-”.

“What did I say about calling me that?”, he cut off, his voice stern and scolding. She didn't want to think about what he would sound like without music in the background, in a smaller space, in the bedroom, between her-. _Stop it._

 _“_ Sorry”, she apologised quickly, but refrained from using his name, “ I just wanted to say... I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable... back there”, she said, although it wasn't completely true, and lowered her gaze, but his chuckling brought her back to attention.

“No...”, he began drawing out the word teasingly, “...you wanted to make sure I didn't consider you depraved little dancer, because of how much you enjoyed my... affairs”.

Andrea's eyes went wide, not because of the truth in his words, but because of the quiet laughter that escaped her lips. She felt like she could laugh, wasn't that a strange occurrence, and as if she had all the freedom in the world to do so.

“Alright, now you're teasing me”, she rolled her eyes and smiled her best shy smile.

Loki would be lying if he said that he had expected this reaction. He had been almost certain that his raw alteration of her words and thoughts would make her pull away and hide behind her protective shell, but on the contrary... she had gifted him with laughter. _You might be surprised by her reaction to the real you,_ Mrs Granzioni had said and it was a spot on assumption.

“You know you like it”, he added experimentally. Her furious blushing was confirmation enough.

Tucking a strand behind her ear, she smiled timidly, “Maybe”.

“Hey, Little V, your turn for the orders”, a waitress called from the far end of the bench, shaking the disk expectantly.

 _No, no, no, no , no, not now_ , she whimpered as she stared at the girl, glaring daggers at her, although it wasn't her fault that duty exchange was due now.

Loki heard her whimpers and a sick male pride overtook him. It was such an immature reaction to feel pride, because a woman wanted to spend her time with you instead of working, but he couldn't stop it from erupting in the form of a smile. And then something completely out of the ordinary happened that shocked his mind and body and only resulted in an even wider smile.

“Sorry”, she said with sorrow painting her lovely face, “ I'll come back as soon as I am done, I promise”, and then she squeezed his wrist , the one adorned in the leather strap, in such casual manner, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. After that she simply walked away, leaving him with an emptiness in his chest.

“I'm not going anywhere”, he whispered under his breath and let his mind drift to a thousand insecurities and doubts.

He wanted to settle down for one version of their situation and one version only, but something was blocking him from feeling self-assured. He had never doubted himself in romantic interests and sexual conquests before, but now everything was different. Not only because he had changed, after losing his home, but because he could not, for the life of him, resemble what he felt for her to any other situation from his past. He didn't simply want a warm body to bury his cock in. He didn't want to spend himself inside a tight cunt nor dominate her, just for the sake of it.

Perhaps it was too soon to be thinking like this, but he wanted more. More of her. More of that golden skin, more of that aroma that made him drunk, more of that intoxicating company, more of her thoughts, her words, her voice. He wanted to own every single inward sigh and moan, every quake of her womb, every slippery sound, for those things, which were of great importance to the kind of life he lead, hadn't gone unnoticed. And he would have what he desired, for as of now, his ambition, which was sleeping quietly for two years now, had found a home in her.

Andrea huffed in frustration. She checked her watch one more time in the last five minutes only to discover that only 15 had passed since she had to leave him to go on duty exchange. It was unbearable to stay away and that alone was enough to terrify her. It was like her brain wouldn't let her concentrate on anything else, other than those damnable 15 minutes, which she had spent taking drinks to drunken fools, while she could have been using that time for him. For their special kind of communication that only consisted of being around each other.

She placed some bottles on a table near the bar and then hurried back, in hopes of catching a glimpse at him. By now she had decided that there was more to learn when she simply observed him rather than when she talked to him. Whether he was by himself or with other people, there was always a new detail that Andrea noticed.

During his kiss with Benjamin he had been a completely different version of himself. He inspired obedience without having to verbally demand it and he was expecting to be allowed entrance in a stranger's mouth, without so much as a warning look. She found it really controlled and authoritative and also romantic to be around someone or inside someone and not have to use words in order to be understood. He exhibited a kind of dominance that she had only fantasized about in her wildest dreams.

When they had talked tonight though, there had been no signs of him wanting to overpower her. His mood was yet again changed and had turned into a show of having the upper hand in a conversation and being able to summon back control whenever he wanted to, but nothing more intimidating than that. His eloquence was her drug and perhaps it attracted her even more than his godly features. Now that she was thinking about it, she wasn't even sure if she was attracted more to his beauty or to the way this beauty contorted into variations of selves. His voice echoed in her head, his smell always found its way to her nostrils, his eyes penetrated her the way she had imagined sexual penetration to be like, but touch... his touch was absent tonight and that filled her with a bitter consternation, because it was a likely scenario that they wouldn't connect like that this night.

Now that she was away and he was left alone with a half empty glass of whiskey, she noticed another change in mood. His brows were sorrowfully furrowed and his eyes were practically drilling through the bottom of the glass, as though he would find the answers to his deepest thoughts down there. It was a wild guess, but she decided that that is how he must look when he's thinking. She spotted a difference in that moment. So mischievous, when calculating and planning, but so lonely and drained, when thinking. Around him, the youth danced to the sounds of moans and mewling sobs, yet he remained still, waiting, drowning, wanting something productive to do to keep his mind from numbing out completely. Or perhaps it was the opposite. He wanted to do nothing and simply waste away with time.

All these traits she knew very well, because she too possessed them on occasion and thus it was easy to identify them on other people. She hated it when that happened. Some people did not deserve feelings like these and it made her sad to know that she wasn't the only one experiencing them. She just never thought that the God of Mischief could be suffering from them. But then again, all these deductions of hers were only based on an assumption. They weren't an actual solid argument. But as the minutes lazily dragged themselves by, she found herself eagerest than ever before to throw the disk on another girl's face and go join him. Attempt to cure his sadness and melancholy. Checking her watch again, she saw that only another five minutes had passed and she almost stumped her foot on the ground in annoyance.

“That's it”, she whispered, exhaling at the same time.

She pressed her lips together and looked around the bar area. She soon spotted the girl that was in charge of preparing the orders, and so she moved closer to suggest.

“Hey, Tiger Lily”, that was her stage name and she was a dancer too, “Can we end this exchange of duties a little earlier? I'm tired and I think I'll be of more use behind the bar”, she pleaded with pouty lips to make it look convincing.

The other girl looked a bit annoyed at first, but then her face softened after of course having glanced at Loki's direction and then back at Andrea's begging puppy eyes.

“Tired my arse, Little V”, she exclaimed knowingly and then added, “ Fine. I' ll go take the orders for the rest of the night. Go to your man”.

“He's not my-”, Andrea attempted to save it, but Tiger Lily wasn't paying attention.

“Yeah right”, she rolled her eyes and chuckled lightly, making Andrea blush and look down immediately, “Just be careful, alright? You're too young and too good for him”, she winked and took the disk from Andrea's hands.

Before she had the chance to say anything, Tiger Lily had left and was attending to some tables near by. What did she mean by “too young and too good” ? She felt older more often than not and she wasn't as good as everyone made her out to be.

When she spotted the girl coming back towards her, Andrea snapped out of her thoughts and remembered to thank her.

“You owe me bitch”, she replied jokingly, “ Now, get behind the bench. I need two bottles of vodka”.

Andrea almost jogged around the bar, fully excited and nervous, as was usual before going to him. After handing the bottles to the waitress, she took a deep breath and turned to Loki, who was still staring at the glass in absolute concentration and melancholy.

She approached him slowly, a little concern rising inside her, and pretended to arrange some umbrellas in a vase, before asking, as casually as possible, “ Are you okay?”.

Loki's eyes shot up to meet the little dancer's concerned ones. Why the worry? _What kind of question is that?_ No one had asked him that before, as dramatic as that sounded. He found himself at a loss for words, so he answered the question with another question, hoping to distract her.

“Why are you doing this?”, he voiced, having Benjamin's words from before dancing through his mind.

“What do you mean?”, she asked and folded her arms over her chest. _Why am I being nice to you?..._

“Why do you work here little dancer?”, he explained and tilted his head to the side to study the new posture she was currently obtaining.

Her shoulders haunched, her arms tightened around her and her eyes darted away from him, however she parted her lips and hesitantly said, “ For the money... obviously... but, ah, it's... it's a long story. I' m afraid I wouldn't know where to start”.

“From the beginning would suffice”, he coaxed, throwing away all intimidating tones from his voice, but it wasn't enough to make her talk. Instead she only half smiled.

So Loki balanced his elbow on the wooden bench and turned his palm upwards, waiting for her to accept his reassurance. To accept the clandestine, silent deal he wanted to struck according to which, all her thoughts and secrets would remain safe with him.

Andrea didn't know what to make of this gesture, but it didn't matter, for she was finally presented with the one thing she craved all night. The slightest contact with his skin.

She nervously and expectantly looked at him and he nodded with his head, as if saying, that it was alright for her to touch him. And thus, she tentatively disentangled a trembling arm from her chest and soon, sooner than she thought, her hand was resting lightly on his palm. He wrapped his fingers around her own, trapping them in a gentle grip. He looked deep into her eyes as he brought her knuckles closer to his mouth and when he eventually kissed them, Andrea remembered... _Your hands should always be kissed_...

 

 

The manager was leaning against the wall by the stairs, leading up to the private rooms, accompanied by MacGregor and that harlot he had in his service.

He had been eyeing with interest and curiosity the God, sitting and talking to that girl, his attention undivided, hanging from her every word like a school yard boy, and that stupid 19 year old had been all shy smiles and giggles. He briefly wondered if this was the girl that had come upstairs to his office three months ago, begging to keep some clothes on during a dance. Well, now, it was more than obvious to him that she would discard even those for Laufeyson.

If he wanted to be honest with himself, he didn't like the God one bit, but he spent quite a lot of money in here, which automatically made him an honoured costumer. Club rules. So as long as they managed to keep him satisfied and happy, he would keep spending, just like the other customers, the manager was sure of that.

“He seems to rather enjoy her company, does he not?”, he asked MacGregor, as he formed his plan for tomorrow night.

“Yes Sir”, the bulky man agreed, not that he had the right to disagree with the boss of course. Saying any different would probably cost him his job.

“I think it's time we treated Laufeyson to our well known surprise gift. The other clients have been treated to it many times in the past, why not Mr Laufeyson as well? Would certainly be rude of us”, he thought aloud and then turned to the whore beside him, “ You said he's pretty fond of her, right?”.

“Absolutely Sir. That's why I believe she should be the one”, Lizzy said eyeing the couple with a derisive smile playing on her lips.

 


	7. the calm before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gets to know Andrea a bit better and finally decides on what he has to do to get her. But a strange, violent storm is approaching them, a storm that is destined to upset their balance and test their endurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there. Happy Easter! I hope you are all having a good day and are not too hard on yourselves! So, this chapter is an informative one, meaning that you get a summation of what you know about Andrea so far plus some more detail into her last three months and a whiff of something... huge, enormous, grandiose, that is about to happen on the next chapter. There are no warnings here, not even language. It just ends in a cliffhanger, for which I am extremely sorry and before you come after me with the baseball bat let me elaborate and explain myself. It wasn't my intention to make the chapter so short and end it so abruptly, but!, I wanted the next chapter to be tragic in its wholesomeness and I had a really good idea which I wanted to include, and so this chapter, 7, had to serve as an introduction. I am so sorry, I truly am. I hate cliffhangers when I read fanfiction, but there was nothing to be done about it. Or maybe there was, but it just didn't come to me. 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it, because you really get more information on Andrea which will be very useful in the future chapters where her full story will begin to unravel. Thank you so much for every comment, kudos and hit and of course, for your patience. 
> 
> oh! and! "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark", is from Hamlet. Apparently Andrea has this weird thing according to which she whispers little quotes now and then. I don't know how it came to me.

Sundays were supposed to be resting days for most people, but not for Andrea. They were instead, days of intense training and revision accompanied by a lovely pole dancing number, and that was phrased in the most ironic way possible.

She woke up at 8:00, as was usual for her Sunday mornings, put on athletic clothing and trainers and went out the door for her standard running, with only a quick sandwich and a glass of water in her stomach.

This exercise routine had only started a couple of weeks ago, as before then, she hadn't really felt comfortable running around Edinburgh. The city was big and she felt that from the minute she would step foot outside, she would probably get lost and end up in the back seat of a police car. But later on, she had noticed that more people, either from here, or from other regions had the habit of running around, and so if the lot of them could feel this comfortable, so could she.

The coldness of the air that hit her rawly, rejuvenated the skin on her face, entirely waking up both her mind and body. She had grown to love running from a young age and thus by training, she had succeeded many good records back at school. Then, it had been something that she was proud of doing. Now, it was her chance at relief, because when, for a few minutes, all you had inside your head was nothing, afterwards your brain functioned better. Everything was clearer and a lot of things you had no idea made sense, started to do so.

One could say, that such form of exercise would drain her completely of her energy, but in truth, the studying afterwards was what exhausted her. No matter how long it would take and without paying any mind to going out and socialising, Andrea would seat her ass down and revise everything she had learned from her course during the past week, which was exactly what she was doing now. Her only friends in that trial were a now cold and bitter brew to keep her awake and a glass of water, which she forcibly drank and always refilled, because it was good for her health, but generally, water didn't sit alright with her.

During her studying, she had completely forgotten to eat, as she went from one subject to another. From basic points in The Merry Wives, to Gender Customs In Gothic Romance, to Modern British Literature to Victorians And Prejudices, to god knows what next. Notes were scattered all over her desk, written clearly in beautiful bold colours of her choice and textbooks were positioned under her feet and beside her chair on the floor. She didn't even realise how time passed by and she hadn't gotten up not even to pee. Well, in her defence, concentration came hard to her, and she was known to be a massive procrastinator, although she fought it with vigour and thus when she decided to sit down and study, she would either do it to perfection or not do it at all. That sometimes included forgetting to put something in her stomach or going to the bathroom.

“When we are dealing with Gothic Literature and the Gothic world in general, it is important to put aside the idea of God and mortal soul and instead focus on-”.

 _Loki,_ she thought suddenly interrupting her reading aloud. She set down her book and rubbed her temples trying to soothe the thoughts of him away. But it was too late. He had already occupied her mind and had successfully managed to push out the text about Gothic Perspective.

She slumped back on her chair and closed her eyes for a while, coming to terms with the idea that, even if she threw the image of him out the window of her mind he would, with no doubt, reappear at some point later.

And thus, she decided to indulge in her memory of last night, when they had talked over half prepared cocktails and the full of glasses sink.

The tender kiss he had placed on her knuckles had urged her on to talk about herself more and more. She was telling him about how she ended up serving and dancing at Valhalla, making quite a few unforgivable phrasing mistakes in the process, but he didn't seem to care. He had simply listened, with her hand in his, a gentle grip around her fingers, or while she swirled around to prepare orders. Her stomach had been flipping excitedly as he stared at her in utter amazement, hanging on her every word, but although she had felt comfortable to retell the happenings of the past three months, she hadn't been really keen on discussing what had occurred before that period.

 _Can I trust you? Will you even stick around that long to hear the rest of the story? Are you even that interested in me to do so?,_ she thought sadly, before attempting to concentrate back on her studying.

 

***

 

It was already dark outside when Loki and his housekeeper sat down on the table to dine together. In front of them, a full meal of meats and fruits and vegetables was spread out, which Loki had constructed with his magic, as he was useless inside an actual kitchen. He had also created a bunch of beautiful flowers to decoration purposes, as he knew that his housekeeper swooned over such gestures.

He had invited Mrs Granzioni over to thank her for the advice she had given him some days ago and because he also wanted to see if he could get anything else out of her. The old woman seemed to know a lot about his little dancer's probable psychology and perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

As Mrs Granzioni talked about this and that, Loki sipped his wine patiently, waiting for the perfect chance to mention Andrea and his decisions concerning her. He, of course, engaged in the casual conversation with his housekeeper, but his mind was entirely elsewhere.

“So, what happened with your mystery dancer?”, she asked suddenly, snapping him out of his daze.

“Sorry, what?”, he asked back, confused, and the woman chuckled at his response.

“You're thinking about her. You haven't heard a word I said, darling boy”, she explained and shook her head amused.

“Is it that obvious?”, he admitted, a slight dose of shame tinting his tone.

“No, it is not. But you just confirmed it, so...”, she raised her brows knowingly.

“Have you no shame woman? Tricking the Trickster?”, he asked mockingly, feeling somewhat ambushed by her cunning and dare, but that didn't stop him from being impressed.

“Oh, stop it”, she rolled her eyes and continued, “So? Any news?”.

Loki took a deep breath, set his glass on the table, leaned a bit closer and gathered his thoughts. He told the housekeeper everything the little dancer had so trustingly shared last night, careful not to miss even the smallest detail.

Andrea had come to Edinburgh, three months ago, to study English Literature, as she did not wish to remain in her home country and go to University there. She had insisted that if one wanted to study the works of English writers they should come to the source. The UK was the place to go and she had chosen Edinburgh, because the University here, offered everything she ever wanted in terms of both teaching stuff and research. It was also the campus with the most clearing positions, as moving here for her studies had been a last minute decision. Other Universities of her liking couldn't offer her a place, because she had been too late in delivering some papers that were quite important for registering.

“Yeah, some of them wanted me as a student, but they needed achievement certificates with a very specific mark that I wasn't able to accomplish. Some others said that my English level was low and that I wouldn't... make it, in the course. Somehow I managed to impress the admissions team in Edinburgh University, and so... I packed my life and moved it here”, she had confided and he had been impressed by her tenacity and stubbornness to achieve her goal, even if the odds had been partially against her.

All by her own, she had flew to this place, not knowing if she would be able to survive, but she had just done it. To her, it had been a huge leap of faith and she had told him last night, that it was the best decision she had ever made and hadn't regretted it at all. Yet, unfortunately for her, she had faced a lot of difficulties, the basest being the cost of living in a city like this. She had started searching for work as soon as she had realised that she wouldn't make it on the budget she already had. But everywhere she went, they had closed the door at her face, saying that they needed prior experience in order to hire her, something that in her 19 years of life, she couldn't possibly have. She had asked the University vaguely if they had any jobs available on campus, but they had insisted that as a bachelor it was preferable that she concentrated on her course and not on external jobs. She hadn't the heart to tell them that she couldn't support herself financially if she didn't get a job and so she had turned to more severe measures. The sex/strip club, Valhalla, was the only place that had agreed on hiring her, mostly out of pity and despite her young age.

“If you're hungry, it doesn't matter who takes you in and why”, she had said.

For those three months that had passed, now entering the fourth, those dancing numbers had managed to cover many needs. She had succeeded in striking a good deal with the manager of the place and as soon as she had started receiving monthly payments, her financial situation had eased out and she had been able to pay all of her bills on time, afford enough food and all the needed material for her classes.

“What sort of deal?”, he had asked when she had paused to gather her thoughts.

“ What you see on stage... topless dancing”, she had shrugged, but Loki knew that the weight of those words was much bigger than she made it out to be.

“But it's not really topless, is is now?”, he had pressed.

“That's because of...well... I can't do it any more...”, she had shivered, as if a cold wind had ran through her, “Not in front of-”, but she had stopped herself, before saying what had really been on her mind, “I just can't”, and had then gazed up at him.

It had been obvious that the bringing up of this subject had upset her. Loki knew that, he, was to blame for her not honouring the deal and the way she had looked at him, straight in the eye, confirmed it.

Yet it was his next question that had struck an even more sensitive nerve, to the point where she had withdrawn her gaze from him and had taken a reluctant step back, using the crossing of her arms as protection.

“What about family? Friends? Can't they help you at all?”.

“That's... that' s another story”, she shook her head, perhaps trying to throw out a painful memory, “ I don't talk about it”.

He had simply nodded, not wishing to press any further for now, though he couldn't help but be intrigued by her refusal to talk about family. _Hm, what did they do to you?_ , had been his first thought.

He had considered each word she had uttered carefully on his way back home. There was no way he would allow her to continue living like this, that was for sure. It mattered not that he knew her only for six days. Back in Asgard, people got married within this time or even sooner. And so, the first ideas for a plan had invaded his mind, as he entered his penthouse, dropping the keys on a tray. He looked around grinning. _So much space..._

“Will you be going back tonight?”, Mrs Granzioni asked without commenting on the information he had given her.

He leaned back on his chair, taking his wine glass and raising it to his lips.

“Yes”, he replied, “And I have a plan”.

 

***

 

Andrea entered the club, a little less anxious and pouty than usual. Those feelings were trivial in the face of her anticipation to see him again.

How was it even possible that within a week, she had become addicted to his presence? How had she gone from wanting to run away from him to wanting to be as close as possible? How had fear been replaced by trust?

A tap on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts, “Boss wants to see you upstairs”, Lizzy informed giving her a weird satisfied smile , before she walked away, her hips swaying almost triumphantly.

Andrea felt her guts churning and a deep consternation overtook her, as she started walking towards the stairs.

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark...”, she sing sang under her breath.

She knocked two times and upon hearing the invitation, opened the door and picked inside hesitantly, before entering.

The manager was sitting on his chair, legs spread wide, Scotch in his hand.

“ Sit down”, he ordered, turning the glass around, inspecting the liquid in the light of his desk lamp.

 


	8. gimme shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Andrea are forced into a situation that has both its benefits and disadvantages. Will this unexpected experience bring them closer or tear them apart? Loki will have to make huge adjustments to his original plans and Andrea will be helpless to do anything but obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Chapter 8 is here. I hope you enjoy it because I certainly had a lot of fun writing it. The editing part... that wasn't so great, it took me eons, but here it is, as promised!
> 
> 1) pay attention to the warnings: strong language, beginnings of post traumatic stress, mentions of forced lap dancing and non consensual prostitution, forced stripping, humiliation, illegal recording of sexual activity, mild manipulation (but it is for a good cause), sexual frustration, some deliciously possessive vibes, fluff (the sexy kind), graphic depictions of violence, attempted rape, mild alcoholic substance and narcotics use, bed fights that lead to the best comfort ever.   
> 2) when I am describing Loki's suit, of course I mean the black suit of sex from Thor Ragnarok, obviously, I dare you to fight me on that: https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/377035800045253172/ , https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/433401164125584227/  
> 3) the idea behind combining the chapter with "Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones was purely spontaneous and I' ll tell you why I did it. Despite from the fact that that particular song is my all time favorite and I just have to listen to it at least once a day, I also happened to be watching Inglorious Basterds ( by Quentin Trantino) when I was writing this chapter. And I don't know if you have seen this... mind blowing! film but there is a scene towards the end where the characters are executing their final plan and Cat People ( Putting out the fire with gasoline) by David Bowie is playing in the background and so I got inspired. You know, sometimes when I write I like to have pictures in my mind and songs that go well with scenes. In that context, I believe I think more like a director than a writer. Another song that is mentioned and combined really well with another scene in the chapter is "Is This Desire" by PJ Harvey. This was inspired by a dream I had actually which to be honest included a lap dance, I know, I have weird dreams. But you got to know that this chapter was inspired just by songs and Loki's suit, eheheheh.   
> 4) the last thing I want to mention and then I will leave you to your reading has to do with Loki's adjustments to his original plan ( you' ll understand once you'll read). The way Loki reacts when he is at the private room with Andrea is not as realistic as you would think. If a normal man had found himself in a situation like this he would have reacted in an entirely different way, you know this, and of course he wouldn't have used the situation to his advantage. But Loki is Loki and he has to prove his point blatantly and with any means necessary. Please do not think that he does not respect Andrea or that he doesn't understand how scared she is. It's nothing of the short. He takes care of her and manages to get her panic under control whilst holding his own urges back most of the time. All I'm saying is that, the way he's dealing with the situation is just on the right side of manipulative. I paid a lot of attention on this part and I hope that I didn't make him look cruel or uncaring. 
> 
> That's all! Thank you so much for your reading, your hits, comments and kudos! I really appreciate it! And I do hope that this story keeps inspiring you the same way it inspires me! Lots of love.

… _oh, a storm is threatening my very life today..._

 

 

 

A throaty whimper escaped her lips as she began waking up. Her lids felt heavy, but she slowly managed to open them fully. However everything was out of focus and it seemed like the unclearness in her vision was somehow enhanced by an annoying buzzing in her ears. She tried to focus on her other senses, in hopes of determining where she was. Getting her brain into working mode again was a priority.

There was some kind of light weight pressing against her chest and her hands felt awfully warm by her sides. She withdrew them from the strange warmth and placed them on her stomach and chest area to identify the semi heavy object upon it. Apparently, whatever covered her was soft and furry and so nice to touch that she hummed approvingly. Like a reassuring blanket, she was certain she didn't own. She lowered her eyes to it and through her blurry vision observed its black colour.

The smells around her were different. Almost too different, if she wanted to be honest. Instead of the usual lavender of her apartment, she now caught the intoxicating smells of fresh wood and some other, more masculine scents she couldn't pick out. It was something between leather and cashmere, between soft and rough, but she couldn't be sure.

She tried her eyes again, blinking a couple of times. She attempted to make a face, to get rid of the numbness, but as soon as she did that, the whole right side of it started to ache and pulse in an unfamiliar way. At the same time, she felt something dripping from her nose onto her lips and she used her wrist to wipe it away, but when she looked to her hand to see what it was, she gasped. A deep crimson shade stained her skin. _Nose bleeds_. That was the first thing she thought. But she never had nose bleeds, like, ever in her life. This was highly unusual.

And then it struck her. She shut her eyes and winced, as she remembered grunting in sudden pain, a kind of pain that made her go limp. In her mind, images of knuckles connecting with her cheek, passed through, as fast as lightning, emphasized by a drawn out buzzing sound that wouldn't cease.

She sat up quickly on the bed, frustrated, but realized that it had been a bad idea. It wasn't just her face that had been affected. Her whole body ached massively. From her ribs and middle, down to her thighs and legs. Every muscle felt sore and the sudden stretching she had just inflicted upon them intensified the general stiffness. _Wait a minute... Bed? Did I say bed? What bed? What is happening...,_ she thought, as the first symptoms of a pending panic attack were starting to overtake her. She breathed deeply to keep it at bay, at least until she found out where the hell she was, because, rest assured, this was not her place.

Thankfully, it was at that precise moment that her eyes gained their focus back and so she turned her head from side to side nervously in order to take in her surroundings. But that only resulted in her getting dizzier and dizzier. For a couple of moments it was as if her brain followed the movement of her head ten minutes after she had moved it, making it feel like the organ was somehow detached from the skull. Finally, she concentrated upon a spot that caught her interest, hoping that it would give her a sense of orientation.

What was that stiff object in front of her? It was so tall, like a Victorian wardrobe or something, but it had buckles and straps everywhere and they were so long that she couldn't understand where they began and where they ended. She inhaled deeply, both from her mouth and nose, and confirmed the smell of leather she had caught before. And... colours... green... black... gold... but... but the buckles and the belt, what were those? Some kind of accessories? Then she concentrated swiftly on something that resembled a hand, but it was so still, like a mannequin doll and so... so pale. She traced it upwards with her gaze and caught the glimmer of light reflecting upon metal with weird carvings on it. Where did that light come from and what was that metal? It was shiny and golden and she wanted to touch it. Wait... was that a helmet carved upon the met-.

But her thoughts were rudely interrupted by yet another unwanted memory and this one was verbal. She winced again, as the flash of five blackened figures strolled through her mind, calling her names and touching her haphazardly...

“ Ge... the... ah... away... ples-”, she mumbled hoarsely through her teeth, not fully understanding what she was saying, but feeling a need within her to put it out there or simply use her voice to confirm that she still had it.

The buzzing, ohhh, not again. She pressed her wrists firmly against her temples trying to shut it out, but it was impossible. She also couldn't keep her panic under control any longer and so it started coming out in short throaty breaths that were chocking her, instead of bringing the oxygen inside her lungs.

“Andrea”, she heard someone call in a tone that was too loud for her ears and slowly, she began tilting her head upwards, following the buckles and the leathers with her eyes, as if climbing upon a gigantic ladder.

When she reached a face, sharply structured and dipped in concern, her breath ceased for a split second and a light electrical jolt hit her body.

There was a word she was trying to find. A simple, four lettered word that she had to say. She searched his face, believing that she could find it there, but when it came to her mind, she refrained from using it. _Too familiar... too familiar..._ , she whimpered inwardly.

“Sir...”, she chocked out instead and swallowed the threatening lump that had started to form in her throat. Then everything changed again, and not for the better.

As much as she wanted to stay right where she was, simply looking at him, expecting guidance and help, the memories were too strong and they kept pulling her away from the present, throwing her back to what must have been... last night. _No, no, no, no, no_...

“No...”, she uttered before the first sob contorted her lips and then the pathetic hiccups followed suit.

Tears welled up in her eyes and her breathing quickened dangerously, as she lost the sight of his menacing body, looming over her and was brutally transported back to the alley...

 

***

 

23:43, Sunday night

 

 

_...war, children, it's just a shot away..._

 

 

 

“No, no, no, Sir please. You promised I wouldn't have to do those things, you promised me. Please don't make me, you can't...”, Andrea begged, desperately clutching at her bag, needing badly to draw strength from something, anything.

“You will do, whatever I ask you to do stupid girl!”, the manager snarled and she flinched away at the sudden exhibit of anger. Yet it wasn't his anger that made her pull away. She was used to that by now. It was the tone of his voice. Her father used to shout like that...

She didn't dare speak any further and so simply settled for staring at that animal with her most hatred filled gaze. He, on the other hand, was looking at her like some piece of candy that he wanted to lick and suck.

Rubbing his chin with his forefinger, he began speaking, calmer this time, “Don't you see I'm doing you a favour here?” I could have ordered you to do this to anyone and yet...”, he pointed a finger towards her, “... I'm giving you to the one that's got a fancy on you and you on him, little slut. Why can't you appreciate that?”.

Now it was the young girl's time to let the fumes of her own anger escape, as she shot up from her seat, bag falling on the floor, and shouted at his face, “ I don't have a fancy on him and I would suggest that you keep your god damned nose out of my business. We were just talking for fuck's sake and you thought that-”, but she stopped talking immediately, when he bolted from his chair and came around his desk, where she stood.

In an instant, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and she hissed in pain, as he used his hold on her head to sit her back down on the chair. He leaned close to her ear. Her eyes stung from the alcohol emanating from his breath as he spoke.

“It's a fucking lap dance you little ungrateful cunt! Let me remind you that I took you in my club despite your uselessness as a whore, when no other employer would even look at you, much less hire you!”, he barked and she winced, both from the pain in her head and the loudness of his voice, “So, I would suggest that you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut and do what I say or else, I'll kick you out of here and good luck paying rent”, and with the last word he let her go with a jerk of his hand, making her lose her balance for a bit.

He looked down at her disapprovingly and added, “ Now, I want you to say it. Say, 'I'm sorry Sir. I'll do as you instructed' ”.

Andrea looked up at him stunned. He couldn't really expect her to repeat his words like some naughty child. That was absurd. But then a hard slap across her face with the back of his hand confirmed that he was indeed being very serious.

Touching her burning cheek and forcing back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, she repeated through gritted teeth, “I' m sorry Sir. I' ll do as you instructed”.

“There you are. Was that so hard?”, he mocked, “ Now, go to the changing rooms and get ready. When you hear the presenter announce that you wont be on the stage tonight move to the main area, find Mr Laufeyson and wait to be escorted upstairs. Is that understood?”,

“Yes Sir”, she said, containing the anger in her voice as best as she could.

“Good. Mr Laufeyson is a very good client of ours and you can understand that it is our policy here, to make good clients happy, don't you?”.

“Yes Sir”.

“Good”, he repeated, “ Hey, look at me”, he then added sharply, grabbing her chin without care and turning her head towards him. She had no choice but to let him do what he wanted, “ When you get in the room, you'll smile, not smoulder, like you do right now, alright? And I expect you to be a good girl. You'll strip and grind that cunt against him until he's satisfied and then you'll thank him for even allowing you to be in his presence. Is that clear?”.

Andrea's eyes went wide with shock upon hearing the vivid description of what she had to do, but she pushed it away for the moment and said for the third time, “Yes Sir”.

He finally let her go and ordered her to leave him alone. Quickly gathering her bag from the floor, she bolted out of his office, not wishing to be in his presence any longer than she had to.

Once inside her changing room, she collapsed against the door, and tried to squeeze the anger back inside her body, but tears were summoned instead. Her brain was starting to escape the shock from before and to realise what she was forced to do, in less than ten minutes time. No. She would react like everything was fine and she would explain to Loki how things were. She would explain and he would understand. He had to. If he was the man she had made him out to be, he would see sense.

 

***

 

00:00 o'clock

 

 

_...ohh, see the fire sweeping our very street today..._

 

 

 

Loki was sitting comfortably on his front seat couch, expecting the little dancer to appear and take his breath away, like she always did.

He was dressed a bit more formally tonight, since a few hours ago he had had dinner with the lovely housekeeper and hadn't bothered to change. He wore suit, shirt and tie, all in black and perfectly tailored, just as was his preference in dress code. Matching black trousers adorned his legs and black leather shoes completed the style. Unlike the previous times, he hadn't given his coat to the lobby, but had kept it with him, for, as strange as that would sound for a frost giant, there was a very unsettling chill running up and down his spine that he could not justify.

“Ladies and gentlemen,”, the presenter announced suddenly, “I have news for you. Our beloved Little V will not be dancing for us tonight, because you see... she has a very special gentleman to satiate upstairs”, he winked, drawing out his words and indicated upwards with his thumb, while a sardonic smile played on his lips, “Well well, who could that be, who could that be...”.

Loki's jaw tightened and all the anticipation drained out of him, balling itself on his now clenched fists. The crowd around him cheered and whistled and talked about “the lucky guy”, but it was all very distant, as an angry green mass of seidr had began piling up on his chest.

The questions of what was the meaning of this and where was she, were eating him alive, and as if he couldn't take it any more, he shot up from his seat and decided then and there to pay a little visit to the manager upstairs, after of course having found out her location and retrieved her. But before he could make another step, the door to the changing rooms opened with a squeak.

From within, came the little dancer, wrapped in nothing, but a blue silk robe, face looking to the ground, tired and stripped of expressions. She approached quietly, barefoot, all the while keeping her gaze down, arms securely wrapped around her chest and stomach, in need of any sort of protection. His fists automatically unclenched and a huge bright question mark spread across his face, as she halted beside him.

Andrea didn't fight hard to avoid his gaze, as she wasn't particularly inclined to see the probable confused look in his eye. She instead settled for observing his amazing attire to distract her mind from her pending duty. She noted that in formal clothes he looked even more stunning. His suit clung to his shoulders perfectly, as if it was tailor made on the spot, which probably was. His neatly done tie had a sheen to it, which allowed it to differ from the other black pieces adorning him. His coat was hanging from his forearm in a delicate fold. She didn't want to extend her gaze further, but she did and with relief spotted her leather strap around his wrist. If the circumstances were different, she wouldn't be able to tear her eyes from him tonight. But they weren't and thus she looked away.

“Whatever is happening, I'm not its cause, I swear”, he admitted sternly. There were many things burdening his conscious, but this, he wouldn't let her believe was his doing. The need inside him to reassure that he was not to blame burned hot and so, since she wasn't answering to his first attempt, he added, already jumping to his own verdict, “ You have to believe me, I-”.

“I know”, she cut him off. Her two words were as loud as a murmur, but she knew he could hear her clearly, “I know it's not you”.

Instant relief washed over him and urged him on taking a step closer to her, needing answers, “ What's hap-”.

“Please don't. Wait until we are alone. I' ll explain to you then, but for now, whatever you hear or... just... go along with it, okay? Promise me”, she whispered and in order to emphasise her words, she reluctantly turned her face to look at him, not exactly locking eyes, but still, keeping her gaze vaguely upon his face.

His brows, which had been furrowed before, relaxed, and his eyes widened at the state of her own. With his lips parting slightly, he saw the deep red surrounding her green irises in a horrifying manner and he also noticed puffy circles underneath, as if she had been crying vigorously. _She obviously has...,_ he thought sadly, feeling some of the previous anger surge through him. Perhaps it was the dimmed lights of the place or his imagination, but he observed curiously that one side of her face was more flashed more the other.

He took a deep breath and held it in, attempting to calm down. His first instinct, which was fuelled by maddening concern, warned him against obeying her pleadings, but another, more logical part of him, suggested that whatever procedure this was, the little dancer knew it better than him.

Then, with the corner of his eye, he saw the presenter approach both of them jovially and he immediately hid every emotion from his face, putting on a fake smile that didn't even reach his eyes.

“I am terribly sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Laufeyson. Allow me to elaborate a bit on what is going on”, he made an introduction, his voice practically dripping honey.

“Please do”, Loki said in a stern, no-nonsense voice, although he kept the smile on. Andrea shivered at how twisted it looked. He might be the only person she knew that could look so menacing while smiling.

“Oh well, it is customary for us to treat our best clients to a private lap dance, as thanks for their presence in our honourable establishment. Little V here...”, he said and shook a hand dismissively towards her, without even looking, “... will make sure that you are kept satisfied, free of charge of course...”, he winked and then added one last sentence that made Andrea's stomach churn violently, “... and after our darling girl has performed for you... you are free to do whatever you wish with her...”, and then he graced her with an utterly filthy look, “... compliments of our manager”.

 _You bastard_ , she screamed inwardly before her breath hitched in her throat. Loki heard both. As it appeared, she hadn't expected the awful presenter's last words. He saw her looking down to the ground, as if scanning the floor underneath would provide answers and a solution out of this.

To save the situation, he first turned to Andrea, bowing slightly with a palm over his chest in thanks, something that she didn't even notice, as she was still in shock, and then he looked back at the presenter and said with the same false smile on his lips, “How very generous of him. This night is turning out better than I had expected”.

The presenter shook his head in agreement and then suggested, “ Shall I escort you to your private room?”.

“Lead the way”, Loki replied flatly and Andrea, who was forcing herself to remain strong, noticed that the moment the other man turned his back to them, Loki's smile dropped abruptly and his jaw tightened dangerously. If he was good in one thing, it was at hiding his true feelings and playing people, for that she was sure.

As they ascended the stairs in complete silence, Loki was dying to rest his palm on the small of her back, or her shoulder, or her cheek, anywhere he could to assure her that everything would be alright, but he refrained from it. The last thing she would want right now, would be the hand of the man for whom she was forced to dance naked and spread he legs for without her consent. Not that he would allow such a thing to happen, of course. But she didn't know that for the time being and he couldn't communicate it until they were left alone.

When they reached the door to the room reserved for them, they all stopped and waited for the presenter to unlock and show then in. When he did open the door, he gestured for Loki to pass, but as soon as Andrea made a step forward to the threshold, that awful man grabbed her by the elbow and turned her towards him, just inches outside the protection of the room. Her face must have looked exceptionally confused. What was happening? Had they changed their minds? Did Loki not want her?

He took a few steps past her and entered the room, all smiles and false flattery, “ Before I leave you to your business let me inform you that the sound system is right here and works perfectly. The girl knows how to use it”, he indicated towards said system, which was resting on a wooden table one of the four walls.

Then he turned to Loki and leaned a bit forward as if to secretly whisper something, but in honesty, Andrea heard all of it quite clearly, “ Protection is at the top drawer of the night stand, although if you'd rather not use it that is completely fine. I believe she is clean and on the pill. Also...”, and he leaned even closer while Loki pretended to pay attention, “... she is a virgin, so she will definitely not disappoint”.

At the sound of his words, Andrea bit her tongue and averted her eyes from the two men inside the room, trying to focus instead on the patterns of the carpet under her bare feet. Unfortunately, she hadn't a lot of time to gather her wits as the presenter was pacing out of the room sooner than she had expected.

“Robe”, the man that now stood in front of her ordered and extended his hand.

Andrea froze on the spot and stared at him, as if he had told her to rip her heart out and eat it. Seeing that she didn't react, he repeated urgently, “ Did you not hear me girl? Robe. You wont be needing it anyway”.

It felt like someone had stabbed Loki to the chest, as he heard the presenter's words. He fought the urge to intervene with all his might, especially now, that she was being forced to strip in such a crude manner. Were he in Asgard, this sort of thing would have been normal and expected from a whore. But this was not Asgard and Andrea was not a whore.

So, he made a decisive step towards them, making the floor screech slightly, ready to say that that wouldn't be necessary for now, but her screaming thoughts stopped him dead in his tracks. _Please, don't move, don't move, please. If he finds out I didn't... he will fire me if I don't obey, please._

And thus he forced himself once more to back off, furious at the control she had over him and the control he did not have over this entire situation. Alas, he would wait, until they were alone. But then again, they wouldn't really be alone, would they? Perhaps the little dancer was not aware of what truly occurred in these rooms and of how hidden eyes were turned towards the occupants of those small private places at all times during their various steamy intercourses.

With trembling hands and shaky breath, she untied the robe, knowing to her shame that Loki's eyes were boring into her back. When the piece of clothing was loosened around her, she moved her hands to her shoulders and slid it off slowly, firstly exposing the bones of her upper back, then her waist and lastly, the lovely and soft skin of her arse cheeks, all the while praying for a hole to open in the ground and swallow her. She gasped from the cold. Somehow she hadn't expected low temperature in private sex rooms.

As Loki ran his eyes over her naked figure, he had to admit to himself that the concept of her forced striptease was arousing him greatly. Having her bare herself in front of him was not above his expectations and behind the closed doors of his chambers he would insist upon it. But not in this manner. Not when someone else, far beneath him, was giving her the command. The way she had removed the only protection she had left on her beautiful and fragile body, felt not forced in the way he would have liked, but instead pathetic and abusive. He should be the only one to do the abusing, when he deemed it fair, the only one that should force her to her limits and the only one that should have the right to see her in such a state, but only when she would have surrendered freely and completely to him.

Andrea hadn't felt shame and trepidation like that ever before in her entire life. She pressed the silk against her front, trying to hide her peaking nipples and the blush on her chest and neck . But that too was taken away from her forcefully, as the presenter snatched it suddenly from her hands, exposing her completely to his greedy eyes. Her palms immediately went to her breasts to protect them from his rude eyes. He gave her the look a voluptuary would give to a school girl with a mini skirt, no different than the way the manager had often looked at her. At the thought of the words they had exchanged just moments ago in his office, her eyes teared up and she began trembling from both cold and memory.

It wasn't a lie that she had often dreamt about stripping in front of a man. During those first lonely, autumn nights in Edinburgh, her mind would go wild with such thoughts, with fantasies of herself finally finding the one person she would love forever. She imagined herself, discarding her clothes slowly and teasingly, all the while smiling knowingly to a mystery man, who was shy of bursting within his trousers. Images and ideas like these had pushed away her loneliness for a couple of moments and offered an escape from reality. What she was experiencing right now, matched none of her imaginings.

She lowered her head to the tattoo on the underside of her forearm and followed the calligraphic loops with her eyes. She had it done just the day before she permanently moved here. It was an emblem of confidence. A reminder that whatever she came up against in this foreign land, she would deal with it for she was ready, as her tattoo said. But now, this unwavering strength with which she had fought the past three months, had began to crumble down. Ready, was far from what she felt. She was naked and scared and she was silently sobbing, not asking for help, not doing anything to stop it. She was just frozen in place and waited, having almost forgotten the man behind her, whose aura was quite literally red with fury. How she was able to sense his anger was beyond her, but she was sure, that he wasn't exactly calm either.

Loki noticed how the man's eyes lingered too long upon his little dancer's figure and simultaneously, a switch was turned inside him. He automatically ran out of both patience and respect for Andrea's wishes to go along with whatever happened. She was frozen, like a terrified child, he could see it, he wasn't blind. Her nerve from before had evaporated and it was understandable. She hadn't expected to be treated like this. He, hadn't expected it either.

So he plastered on his best gracious smile and tossed his coat on the bed. He walked decisively, his strides wide and threatening, towards the door, successfully snapping the presenter out of his daze. The little dancer also heard him approach and the moment he passed her by, she instantly took a few steps aside to let him handle the situation, since she no longer could.

“Well, thank you so very much for your assistance. Give my appreciation to the manager”, he said with a false tone of gratitude and slammed the door to his face, with such force that the edges of the threshold shook. Loki didn't see this, but Andrea jumped violently at the loudness of it all.

Now that they were alone in here, she felt the walls closing in on her, instantly making this space seem more like a cave than an actual room. All her resolve about telling Loki what was this all about had evaporated. Well, it wasn't necessary that she explain, since the presenter had told him everything, along with things that the manager hadn't bothered informing her of, or, to her great displeasure, things which he had decided to inflict upon her after she had left his office. What was this? A type of vengeance because she pissed him off earlier? How low and pitiful, even though its result was surely what that disgusting man wanted. To humiliate her.

Briefly she thought, that her dream from last morning was coming true. She was indeed offered like a sweet sacrifice, only right now she was scared, while in her dream state, she had been more than willing and wanton.

The fact that she had never been naked in front of a man only intensified everything. But for the doctor that pulled her out of her mother's womb, her lovely womanly parts had been hidden from other male attentions. Even the gynaecologist she had gone once for a check up and a pill prescription had been female.

And yet, something was happening inside her that she couldn't explain. Stripped naked, as she was, in front of the very God of Mischief, covering her body as much as was possible, while holding back sobs, she found herself to be incredibly wet and a sudden fear overtook her that the slick, slippery texture would run down her thigh. And this time she didn't have her panties to protect her. What was this reaction now? Why was her body so aroused? This shouldn't be happening.

When Loki had made sure that the disgusting presenter had gone down the stairs, abandoning completely the private rooms' floor, he let out a sigh, releasing all the pent up tension that he had trapped inside him, from the moment the little one had approached him downstairs.

A little sob, no more than a mewling really, made him turn around slowly to the shaking figure of his woman, whose cheeks were red and stained with wet trails. Despite that, her features were stone cold, as if she wore a mask of sternness that would somehow protect her.

He avoided with all his might to rake his eyes over her front exposed parts and instead focused on his now reformed plan. _I've left you alone for too long,_ he thought as he walked towards her, his footsteps making the wooden floor screech.

Andrea heard him coming for her, sensed him all around her bare skin, as if he were a trapping net thrown at her with the intention of subduing her body to the ground. She had her gaze firmly set upon the floor, as she pleaded through her cries, “No, no, no, please, Sir, I'm-”, but there was no time to add anything more, or even take a few steps back, as he tore her hands away from her breasts, raw and unyielding, with no compassion for the situation she was in.

As soon as he had done that, he grabbed the back of her neck forcefully, as if she would have the strength to fight him and jerk away, while his other hand snaked around her waist and pushed her flush against his clothed hard body. For some reason he dragged her on the corner of the room, unrelenting in his rough hold, and caved her between the wall and himself. It all happened so fast that she didn't even think of protesting.

Her arms dropped slack to her sides, as her breasts were squeezed against his chest, the soft fabric of his suit rubbing her nipples in a tantalizing way that made her choke down one moan after the other. Her stomach and belly were moulded into his. Her, not so evident, hip bones locked a little below his own and her thighs, which were pressed innocently shut, grazed against the fabric of his trousers. It was the position of their heads that briefly reminded her of how tall she was. Their necks were almost wrapped around one another, as if engaging in a swan kiss. His lips were ghosting above the pulse point underneath her ear and his raven hair caressed her cheek. He didn't even have to lean down. His hold on the back of her neck had her face shoved into the crook of his own, where she involuntarily breathed him deeply until her lungs couldn't fill any more. Without wanting to, she exhaled slowly, but the force of the action was so great that her waist bent forward, arching towards him in an almost wanton manner and her belly melted against his toned one. While before, she had been squeezing that part of her inwards, due to the tension, she now let it go completely and it returned to its natural soft condition. Her cheeks flashed red when she realised how she had reacted, and if she could she would turn her face away from him, but he kept holding her firmly in place.

She felt a grin against her neck, in acknowledgement of what she had just done, a regretted action that urged him on to lean even closer. His thin, pinky lips brushed against her earlobe as he whispered, “ Now, now little dancer. I know this must be very uncomfortable for you, but I need you to follow my lead for just a bit longer, hmm?”, the shiver that overtook her by the low tone of his voice must have been answer enough for him, for he continued in a new, more authoritative, yet seductive tone, “ I need you to do exactly as I say, without questions and refusals. You can hesitate all you wish, but in the end I want your obedience. If you understand, grind against me”, he demanded and loosened his grip on her waist, expecting her to comply.

At his last words, Andrea's eyes filled with tears, which landed on his neck. He made no comment on them and instead let them soak the collar of his shirt, as he waited. His impassivity only made her feel worse and so she couldn't stop her erratic mumblings against his skin, “Please... Sir... you can't do th...this to me, let me go, please, I' ll be... I'll be good, just-”, but whatever pathetic excuse she was about to say next, got choked on a particularly loud sob, caused another brush of his lips, this time against her hot cheek.

“ Andrea, am I hurting you?”, he simply said, not affected by her pleas and whimpers.

“ No”, she chocked out.

“ No”, he repeated reassuringly, “ I mean you no harm little one, but someone else does. So pretend with me for just a little longer. It is important”.

She swallowed the next lump that threatened to evoke more of the salty water, as she wondered if this was all a joke to him. Why was he doing this? Did he think that he could play her humiliation and torment? Did he like toying with her shameful yearning for him? Because, if that was what he was doing, she wasn't sure she wanted him to stop and that was a scary thought to have whilst naked and on a God's mercy.

With no small amount of hesitation, she did as he said, using the little space he gave her to part a thigh and grind her pelvis toward him, slightly wrapping her calf around his own for more balance.

The problem with her little act of obedience was that, she had completely forgotten about their heights. While she had expected to press against, perhaps a thigh or a hip bone, her mound had instead rubbed against his clothed shaft. At the realisation, she gasped, probably to his great pleasure.

She shut her thighs again and froze on the spot, while inside her, panic was swirling. What was wrong with her? What the hell were these reactions tonight? Couldn't she understand the situation she was in? _So naive, so stupid..._

Yet all her inward scolding was washed away, when his hot palm found the small of her back and rubbed encouragingly, melting her body against his. She gave in without hesitation, so desperately needing to feel the safety of his warmth. She even closed her eyes and followed with her mind and senses the movements and the rhythm of his soothing hand, until she almost went limp in his arms.

Loki took great pleasure from her reactions and how shocked she was by each one of them. He understood the struggle taking place within her, but he also recognised her desire to be touched and caressed like this. His new plan, which was really the old one with a slight adjustment, would require of her to go beyond her limits and so whatever consolation he could give was necessary.

It could become his next addiction, rubbing her and petting her like so , especially because of the almost not visible, little hairs which caressed his skin in return. A layer of golden hairs, which he imagined, would look like a field of grain under the light of the sun. They were so soft, almost untraceable and he loved the feel of them under his fingers. He silently wished that they extended to her ass as well.

“Good girl”, he said in the same seductive tone, as he continued drawing soothing circles at the small of her back.

At the sound of his praise, Andrea's stomach flipped excitedly. If there was one fault in her character, greater than all the others, that was her need to please and receive praise for it. Thus, his encouraging fingers accompanied by those words, meant a great deal to her. She wanted to smile and say thank you, but she pushed those thoughts away, as she reminded herself with bitterness that she shouldn't feel like this towards him. Besides, he was forcing her into a situation she didn't want to be in... maybe.

“Wrap your arms around me, similarly to mine dear one, and listen very carefully”, he ordered in a stern whisper and Andrea almost rushed to obey. How could he be soft, yet demanding at the same time? How could he assert his authority over her, but still initiate such smoothness?

She wrapped one arm around his waist and rested her hand at the small of his back, while her other hand found the nape of his neck. His hair was the softest thing in the world and she resisted the urge to run her fingers through it.

“Good girl”, he repeated, making her heart beat a little faster, “Now, you might be wondering, “why is he touching me like this” or, “why does he make me shiver when he talks”, or-”, but instead of finishing his attempt to break the ice, he growled, as her fingernails dug themselves on the skin of his neck, before she murmured angrily, “To the point, please”.

She herself hadn't expected to react like that, but his playful and almost mocking tone pissed her off and so she had decided in the spur of the moment to cut his monologue short and save herself from the humiliation.

When she returned to holding him gently, he whispered, with a big grin of admiration in his face, “ Were you mine, I would punish you for that unexpected act of defiance...”, and then he added in a sadder tone, “... but you're not...”, and pressing his fingers into her skin, until she jerked forward, “...yet”. With that, she shivered under his hold, a shiver that reached her fingertips and her toes, making them twitch involuntarily.

He closed his eyes and for a split second, revelled in her response. He was more than aware that it was awfully soon to be mentioning punishments, either they were aimed to her benefit or to the sick pleasure he drew out of them. But upon feeling her quivering like that, he knew that the prospect of a firm hand wasn't outside the sphere of her imagination. And what an imagination she must have. He hoped that it would be as sinister as his own, for there was nothing greater than ultimate submission and consent to things most considered depraved.

In time, he would make her trust him completely. He would coax reactions out of her that she never knew she could produce. He would be his for the taking. The taking of her mind, the taking of her body, the taking of her soul. But all those things would come later, perhaps much later, judging by her cautious nature and constant introversion. For the time being, there was a more important matter to address and it couldn't be put off any longer.

“What I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted, was that there is a reason why I'm doing these things to you and it's not as twisted as your beautiful mind might be thinking. It's even worse”, Andrea drew in a breath at that, a disbelieving short breath, but she also couldn't stop the little smile, although worried, that broke out on her face. Where was he getting at?

“Now, there's something you might not know about these rooms, because you have never been here before, but I have and I was very disturbed by it, rest assured”, now her curiosity was peaked and she furrowed her brows expectantly, “There are cameras placed at each corner of the ceiling, two behind us, two just above our heads”, upon hearing it Andrea panicked, her eyes darting upwards to check if he was telling the truth.

He was. She saw the machines placed expertly on either corner, watching down on them. She felt a sick feeling of invasion and upon imagining her body being eyed by more than one person, the panic grew stronger. She started fidgeting anxiously, new tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She was realising yet again, that the place she was working in wasn't just horrible, but dangerous too. Did the other girls know they were being recorded? Did the manager sell copies of them? This was-.

“Stay still, little dancer”, he commanded gently and emphasised his point by squeezing the nape of her neck, just enough to bring her back to her senses. He continued speaking, softer this time, while rubbing her skin, “Do you see now why we cannot talk above a whisper?”, she nodded slightly and he hummed, “ And you can surely understand that I do not appreciate others looking at your body the way, I, should only be looking at it. That is why I want you to stay still and quiet. I know that my hold frustrates you, but would you prefer they saw you in all your glory? I know, I wouldn't”, that last part came out more possessive than was his intention, but he didn't mind it at all, as he sensed her relaxing completely once more. Being dominated suited her.

She suddenly realised the point of what he was doing. This behaviour towards her, his hold, was his way of shielding her. He wouldn't tolerate unwanted eyes upon her and that, as strange as it sounded, turned her on immensely and warmed her insides in an unfamiliar way.

But behind her overgrowing carnal yearning, a lovely sense of sweetness and gratitude hummed. He was covering her body with his own, preventing others from witnessing her nakedness. It was his way of defending, rather possessively, what he wanted to make his. Perhaps she couldn't yet keep up with the sense of power he seemed to have over her or with his... feelings, but for now, there was one thing she could not deny was true.

 _You're protecting me,_ she thought and without being commanded or coaxed to do it, she squeezed her body against his own, her fingers splaying and digging into the small of his back as her other set of fingers tangled, at last, in his hair. She pressed her nose against the crook of his neck and her eyes flattered closed. She was silently thanking him.

Loki broke in that moment and it was his turn to shiver in her hold. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes, allowing her to put back all his pieces with the pressure of her body and her sheer will. He fought hard with himself, to fall back into his playful and dominant demeanour. She had caught him off guard and the truth was, part of him, didn't want to summon that guard back.

He cleared his throat and whispered, still a little distracted, “ You're welcome”.

He began rubbing her again, preparing and encouraging her for what she had to do next, “Now pet, I want you to be really brave and withstand me a moment longer for I am in need of your help. Brush your lips against my neck if you understand”, he knew he could ask her to do simpler things, but how would he prove his point then? His original plan for tonight consisted only of persuading her with words, but this new tactic, where she actually had to use her body to obey commands, was much, much better. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing after all that she had been pushed into this situation. But for the disturbing fact of the cameras watching them, this could have been the perfect opportunity to get his message across.

She briefly wondered what sort of help could she provide. He was the one with all the talents and so far, the greatest help she had offered was saying yes, when she wanted to say no for saying yes. Nonetheless, she brought her lips closer to his exposed skin, her heart pounding hard in her chest and bouncing against his own. She brushed them quickly against the pale surface, afraid that should she do it slowly, she would linger and dart her tongue out to taste him.

“Very good little dancer”, he praised, impressed by how quickly she had done what was asked, “You're doing very well”, and she shivered again.

“This help I need of you my darling, requires a bit of trust, perhaps more than you're already giving me. You see, I want you to help me build an illusion that will block the cameras for a while and give us some time to talk without being seen or heard. You will have to imagine things for me, so that I can draw them out of your mind and give a false sense of life to them with my magic. At the same time I finish the illusion, I' ll cast a cloaking spell that will conceal us from both sight and sound, and for the duration of this, I will inform you of what I came here to do tonight. If you understand and agree with everything I said, I want you to lift your right leg and wrap it around me. Do you think you can do that pet?”, and then, out of doubt, he added, “ If you cannot, then tap your fingers on my waist and I shall find us another way out of this”.

Andrea was torn between wanting to obey and bailing out on this one. She wanted to get closer, but that would practically mean spreading her legs for him, even on a standing position. She yearned for the praise that would follow, but that would mean submitting to him on a deeper level, something that he could manipulate to his advantage. Not that he wasn't manipulating her now, in some weird way, but what he had asked her to do was too intimate, too exposing, but also it wasn't like he hadn't presented her with the chance to say no.

She thought this through for one last time. Was she really as exposed as she thought? For between their bodies, a warmth had been created that melted her into him, into his skin. It was as if he had opened the button of his suit and had shielded her inside, covering her with the black fabric. Those feelings he incited within her... she had never experienced before and for some twisted reason, she didn't want to be rid of them. The silent anticipation of the unknown, the slight fear of pushing someone to their limit, the butterflies in her stomach. She wanted each and every one.

Finding the right balance on her left leg, she carefully lifted the other and tenderly wrapped it around his waist, which, surprisingly enough, wasn't that high. She was forgetting again the small difference in their heights. She set it firmly against him, losing her balance a couple of times. Her calf was pressing against his side, just above his hip bone, and the sole of her foot was hanging slightly somewhere under his backside. She had long legs, she was aware and he had a slender waist, although toned to perfection.

In her newly obtained position, her pussy lips spread wide and the slightest bit of movement could mean rubbing her clit against his hip bone, or even worse, his shaft. Despite that possibility, she was grateful for the cool air that brushed through her folds managing to somewhat still and dry her arousal.

She felt him inhaling deeply through his nostrils and when he spoke again, his voice had an animalistic undertone that scared and excited her at the same time, “ I know I' m not allowed to say these things yet, but the scent between you legs drives me mad”, in response she breathed deeply, shakily, in a desperate attempt to control herself, “I can only imagine how you' ll taste, little one”, he filthily confided, his lips touching the shell of her ear. Her skin burned hot under his palm and the warmth pierced through his clothes enveloping him tightly, again, a reaction he did not anticipate of her.

Her breathing hit his neck in an excruciatingly pleasurable way as she clutched at him for dear life. He wasn't sure if she needed the support, she was after all balancing herself on one foot, or if this was her desperate attempt at warning him to cool her off. He knew it deep inside, that if she had produced the slightest whimper or mewl after his words, he wouldn't have been able to resist throwing her on the bed and having his way with her. Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately for her, she had remained silent, as he tortured her with his voice and promises.

“But for now, let's focus on our task, shall we?”, he began whispering again, gaining back his control and getting her attention, “ I want you to pick a song that you picture yourself lap dancing to. You don't have to talk. Just think of the tune, the words, what it means to you. It doesn't have to be clear or wholesome, I only need your vague thought of it in order for the illusion to work. When you have it ready in your mind, rub your beautiful calf against my side”.

Andrea whimpered inwardly, because that was the kind of contact she was hoping to avoid. Could he read her bloody mind? One part of her wanted to shout that there was no way she would do that, but another... deeper, darker, sensual part wanted to do it, just out of pure curiosity. To see what would happen. To see how she would feel.

 _How you' ll taste... the scent between your legs..._ Her mind kept on repeating his words, at first disbelievingly and then, as if they were an enchantment. A filthy promise. Her stomach flipped and she struggled to suppress her excitement, as she slowly realised that he had just admitted to wanting to bury his face in her pussy. At the thought of that, she blushed hard and briefly her mind flew to her rose petal dream. To say that she didn't want him ravaging the soft flesh between her thighs, would be a lie.

A slow, daunting melody hummed in her heart, as she thought of his words and as she felt his weight and his touch. Their beauty. Her beauty, which she didn't often like or recognize.  How this song ended up playing in her mind, she couldn't figure out. All she knew was that if she ever lap danced on him, she would want it to be slow and mellow, and tired, in a sensual manner. She would want to be lethargic, as if on drugs, and she knew that she would desire to touch all of him, not just above the clothes, but underneath as well, although that was against club rules. Fuck those. Fuck the manager. Fuck modesty. Fuck the stereotypes. If she had to pick a song, she would pick the sexiest and raspiest. If she had to lap dance, even in her mind, it would be sweet and sensual, not forced and disgustingly filthy like the manager had described it to her. 

Bare drums, nothing more, luring you in and then... _Joseph_ ...  _walked on and on the sunset_ ...  _went down and down coldness..._ she shivered in his arms, and as her eyes flattered closed, she concentrated on the beat of his heart, which somehow seemed to follow the rhythm of the song...  _and Joe said, “I feel like a king” and Dawn's neck... and her feet were bare, sweetness_ ... _in her golden hair_ ... Andrea's whole body was in tune. The bastard... he had picked the one thing that could set her soul on fire. Music. 

Nothing mattered now. Not the fact that she was digging her nails into the small of his back. Not even the fact that his hair felt so soft, as she twisted her fingers through it, or that the underside of her calf was rocking back and forth, locking ever so gently her body to his, while the soft fabric adorning his hip bone was applying feathery touches to the entirety of her sex. That wasn't a rub of her calf. It wasn't what he had instructed. But she couldn't care less. She yearned to do much more than just rub. She wanted to find some kind of pleasure in this forsaken situation they were both in.

Loki gritted his teeth in a feeble attempt at composure. He wondered if she had any idea how hard she was making him with all that sensual grinding of hers. He didn't want her to stop, but fucking her wasn't his objective tonight. He had to talk to her. And thus, he sped things up and commanded in a throaty tone...

“Let me in”.

And so she did. At the sound of his words, every barrier that kept the darker parts of her mind shielded from him dropped all at once and her music filled him and shook him to his bones... _Is this desire_... _enough_... _enough_... _to lift_ _us higher_... _to lift above_... He listened carefully, closely, picking up the tones of the song and then transferring them into the spell. 

This time he didn't rub the small of her back, but instead ran his fingers up and down her spine, coaxing shivers out of her, “Bold choice pet...”, he said, referring to the beautiful song he had just heard, “... well done... such a good girl for me...”, he whispered as she soaked in the praise, “ Now, I need you to do one more thing for me and then the spell will be complete and we will talk, just like I had planned from the beginning ”, he said sternly, snapping her back to reality, a bit cruelly, “ I want you to picture yourself, dancing for me, on my lap. Imagine yourself subduing me underneath you, taking control of me. Imagine that you're doing that, only because I allow it. Make me lose myself and surrender to the pleasures you're giving me. And when you're ready for me to enter your mind, I want you to jump a little and wrap your other leg around me. You are to hold on to me tight, until I carry you to the bed little one. The second I sit down, with you on top of me, the spell will be activated automatically and all they will be able to see is my illusion of us. If you understood the plan, breathe deeply... relax... you deserve it, for you have been so brave for me”, he concluded.

For her, and especially in the situation they were in, it wasn't difficult to summon the way she would want to move on top of him. Besides, she had already started forming pictures in her mind when he had asked her for the song. Perhaps her only problem would be that she touched him, way too much, but right this instant those touches were what she yearned to conjure up. She was sure they wouldn't displease him, but she wasn't certain that they wouldn't urge him on either.

So with the dancing moves, and touches, sorted out, there was one more elephant in the room to address. What he had asked of her was hard to swallow. Lift her body, completely off the ground and wrap her whole naked self around his disturbingly clothed one, was a bit too much for her. A position like this would make her the most vulnerable she had been since this thing started. She would be completely dependable on him. At least, now, she had a steady foot on the ground. Could she give that up? And relax? Relax? Was he being serious? How could she relax with her spread legs around a man she met on Monday, and not even actually met, mind you, just saw.

And then, it was the matter of him taking her to the bed, which terrified her. Although she was really curious about what he wanted to say to her, she couldn't hold back other thoughts, more dangerous.

Would he simply talk once they sat down on the bed... It would be so easy for him to push her down... underneath him... So far, she had been compliant, although some things were against her comfort... what if he had put a spell on her, forcing her brain to cloud and not think properly... Any sensible woman would have jerked away or, at least, put up a fight if a menacing figure such as his, had grabbed them by their necks and flushed their bodies against his, even if that was for their protection, yet... she hadn't. She had melted, and then she had frozen and then had melted again against him... What if she wasn't in her right mind after all? What if his intention was to ra-. _NO, no no no, he's not like that!,_ she thought suddenly, _Yes, he is a bit violent, but he wouldn't... no!._ She couldn't go down that line of suspicion. The assumptions her mind was forming were vile and untrue. Loki wasn't like that.

She forced her brain to shut off and breathed deeply, informing him that his plan had been understood very well, and somewhat executed, on her part. In response, he hummed in her ear and rubbed the small of her back, warming the area affectionately. He afterwards released the death grip he had on the nape of her neck, allowing her all the space she needed to perform her next task.

Her hands changed positions and hesitantly moved to new ones that would give her the support she needed to lift off the ground. She tried to picture that he was a pole and that she had to climb, but the handsomeness of this pole was distracting. She refrained from looking at him, as one hand moved under his arm and found his shoulder from the back side, and clutched at said part tightly. That way, when she would lift her body off, she would have to put her weight on one side of him, the side were her leg rested as well. That small squeeze would give her a chance to balance herself and wrap around him with ease, although she doubted that her being cautious not to give him a lumbago was of any importance to him. Her weight must mean nothing to the strength he possessed, but she couldn't help that strange feeling of worry within her, that she might injure him without wanting to.

Her other hand came to firmly rest on his other shoulder, from the front. Squeezing the leg already wrapped around him, she gave a slight push up to the other, which seemed to gather enough momentum. Using his shoulders for support, she utterly detached herself from the ground and her leg came to wrap around his other side. She really hoped that her little aviation hadn't made her breasts bounce against his face. Before she could think another thought, her ankles were locking on the small of his back and his hands instantly changed positions, large digits splaying themselves on her back and waist, squeezing her to him, keeping her from falling. She felt like a baby koala, if she wanted to be honest and the thought shamed her so much that she bent her head and shoved it in his neck.

Loki connected his mind to hers once more, witnessing the barriers fall down and reveal her imaginings, as he held her tightly to his body. He remained still for a moment, in order to add the final ingredient to the illusion, but in truth, he was stalling. He needed to prove how safe she could be, even when she was suspended off the ground, both literally and metaphorically.

He blew cool breaths where her shoulder met the side of her neck, calming her, while her honey slightly dripped onto his suit. Perhaps she knew it and that's why she had her face shoved into the crook of his neck, to save herself from the embarrassment. He was aware that the smallest, intimate and natural happenings in her body made her blush red, as if it was something to be ashamed of. _Sweet, sweet untried virgins._.. he thought amusingly.

He started moving then with such ease, as if he wasn't holding a human, but a frail autumn leaf. He sat down on the bed, as was planned, and as Andrea repositioned her legs to his sides, she heard a faint melody, coming from behind her, but then suddenly it was cut off, as a golden glimmer passed over both of their bodies and disappeared almost at once. For a minute, she smelled nothing, she heard nothing and saw nothing, but then he spoke, making all of her senses alert once more.

“We're safe now”, he announced, as one of his hands abandoned her back to grab something that rested behind him.

She felt a semi soft fabric being pulled over her and she realised it was his coat, the black one, the one she immensely liked. He was covering her with the utmost care and she decided to follow his lead, detaching her arms and putting them into the huge sleeves. Though as the rest of her body peeled itself off of his own, the shame of being naked in front of him returned in earnest and she quickly looked down to her legs. Her exposure made her stomach drop, not in a horrible way though, but rather in a butterfly manner. Nonetheless, she rapidly gathered a bunch of the fabric in her disposal and covered her sex and as soon as she had done that, she pulled the coat shut in front of her breasts, completely concealing herself behind the black. His black. She avoided his eyes too, not wanting to see the potential smugness in them at her shyness and discomfort. But he would have none of it. None of the distance she was trying to put between them, even if it was an understandable course of action.

He moved a finger under her chin, avoiding the slight panic in her eyes as he tilted her head towards him. She was blushing again and her green globes searching his face fearfully and curiously at the same time. For once, he had no idea what she was thinking, for he couldn't concentrate enough to enter her mind. He got so lost in her eyes, that for a minute everything around him blurred and it was just their bizarre connection that was clear. Green meeting blue.

With his other hand, he moved to unwrap her fingers from the death grip they had on the coat, mindful of not uncovering her breasts. She let him do that without resistance, looking at his eyes, as if she found refuge in them. He brought her knuckles close to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on them, which made her let out a shaky breath. It caused her a headache how he could be so possessive one minute and so tender the next. Her mind was spinning, as if a swirling autumn wind had taken over her body and was twisting it around, until she remained light headed and dizzy.

He let go of her hand then and after carefully placing it on her lap, his fingers moved towards the buttons of his coat. However, upon seeing this change of movements, she slightly flinched backwards, wincing, as if she had been slapped. He briefly wondered if such an act had been indeed inflicted upon her, because when she turned to look at him again, she seemed relieved. Muscle memory was a strong thing, he knew. And he had already noticed how one side of her face had been redder than the other, when they were downstairs.

“Did someone hurt you?”, he asked sternly, wanting to address the subject right that instant.

Andrea swallowed hard, “ It... it's nothing... important”.

“ Little dancer, lying does not suit you”, he said, snaking an arm behind her with the intention of bringing her closer. With a soothing hand running up and down her back, searching her face for any signs of discomfort or worry, he voiced an assumption, “Was it your manager?”.

Andrea looked away for a second, as the memory of that burning slap flashed through her mind. When she met Loki's eyes again, she simply nodded positively and then added, “ He got... he got angry, because I refused to... to do what he said and so he... got a little rough with me, it... it's really nothing important”.

With that out of her chest, she began to relax and lean into him, not afraid to close her eyes for a moment and relish in the feeling of a strong hand stroking her delicate spine. Andrea could swear that under different circumstances, she would have purred like a kitten from his caresses.

Once he stopped caressing her this tenderly, the worry came back, but thankfully not that strongly. She followed his hands with her eyes, those beautiful, long and pale digits, realising soon that he was moving them to the buttons of her coat.

Without touching her skin at all, he started buttoning her up and all the fear he was sensing coming out of her before, evaporated with shaky, grateful breaths. It was her signal that she had understood his intentions.

“ I promise you that at some point in the near future, he will receive the punishment he deserves”, he stated with a disturbing calmness, fingers moving slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

Andrea didn't pay much attention to his words as she was mesmerised by his actions and how cared for they made her feel.

When he buttoned another button, just above the small valleys of her breasts, he stopped, not wanting to cover her completely, although he knew that that was probably what she would have wanted.

“I' m deeply honoured by your trust tonight Andrea, especially because I acknowledge that we met mere days ago and that you do not know me all that well”, he began, “ I understand that being forced to open up to... someone like me, wasn't easy and perhaps not even wanted, at least, not in this manner”, he continued, keeping his voice low and soft, “ So, thank you, for letting me have a piece of you...”, he caressed the strap on his wrist, “... and a piece of your trust. Know that both of these things are of great value to me”, he concluded, a shy smile playing on his lips, as he watched her nod with blushing cheeks.

He then proceeded in taking her hands into his own, with only an ounce of resistance from her, partly because she didn't know how he would use this new hold on her and partly because that was exactly the kind of contact she craved at the moment. He entwined their fingers with a softness she had no clue could come from him and, as strange as that would sound for two people who knew each other for a week, this act of affection felt right. Her fingers felt like they belonged between his own and the constant glimpses she kept catching at the strap around his wrist, filled her with a bit of pride. It only added to the new found confidence, coursing from his body to hers, through the bridge of their united hands.

His voice was firmer when he spoke again, “ Darling, I would ask you for one last thing, one tiny bit of your precious time for I need to discuss with you something of great importance. Is that alright with you?”.

Andrea nodded twice with her head, as she continued to stare at their hands, mesmerised by how good they felt like this, how supporting, particularly because she was straddling his lap, more or less, with nothing else to cover her but his coat.

“I have an offer for you”, he suddenly said and in an instant her whole body went rigid. She slowly dragged her gaze from their hands to his face, her eyes wide and scared, lips parted and quivering and she tried to disentangle herself from him, “No, please...”.

“No no no, nothing like that little one”, he rushed to assure, “ Nothing like what you're imagining. Allow me to explain”, he said rubbing the sides of her hands with his thumbs, simultaneously, “Promise me that you will not interrupt, alright?”.

“Okay”, she whispered cautiously, “I promise”, although she still didn't feel very comfortable with whatever he wanted to so desperately tell her.

“That's my good girl”, he praised, eyes full of a mischievous glimmer that brought a half smile to her face. It served as encouragement enough for him to continue with his unusual plan.

“Come live with me...”, he began, but as he had expected, she didn't keep her promise.

“What?”, she shrieked in stunned shock and immediately tried to bolt off his lap, yet her puny attempt only served in him holding her in place even tighter.

“You promised you wouldn't interrupt little dancer”, he reprimanded in a stern and a bit disappointed tone that appealed to Andrea's submissive side and caused her to feel a pang of guilty. But then again, how could this man request such a thing and how had he managed to get under her skin this much? It was absurd.

There was no mercy in his voice when he ordered, “ Look at me”.

The blush that splashed over her cheeks when the words left his mouth was monumental. Her stomach flipped and she quivered, as his command vibrated through her.

Deciding that there was no way out of this, she turned her gaze hesitantly to his eyes and tried to calm herself with deep inhales and exhales. She didn't want to admit it, but his control over both her physical and emotional reactions was arousing and in a way, liberating. It felt as if she didn't need to be fully aware of herself, because he was there to look after her.

“My offer is simple”, he started again, “ Come live with me. Let me put a stable roof above your head, food in your stomach, -more than you're probably eating right now-. Allow me to give you a place to sleep comfortably and study and grow and feel welcome to. I am aware that you have your own place, yes, and I know how difficult it was to obtain it, you told me. That is why, I will provide you with all the money needed for your rent, so that you can keep your own space, should you ever desire to go back to it”, he paused for a moment to search her questioning eyes and gather his own thoughts, “Quit this job that brings you so much shame and pain. I will support you financially, for money is not an issue to me. But, I will also understand if you wish to seek another work and I will personally help you find it, if that will make you happy”, he then amusingly huffed before adding, “ I know you are strong and independent and have proudly survived on your own for so long ”, he looked her deep in the eyes wishing for her to see the truth in his own, “I respect that and I encourage it deeply. And I need you to know that...”, he paused again, trying to find the most discreet way to communicate his feelings, something he'd never done before this moment, “... little dancer, I'm not doing this out of pity or because I find you weak and defenceless and easy enough to take advantage of. I am doing this for I am in need of you. If you knew in detail where I come from and the things I've done, you would be astonished that I admit such a thing, especially to a human”, and then a sudden thought passed through his mind, presenting him with the opportunity to appeal to her feelings and to his own, though he would never admit that openly, “ But, you've told me of your loneliness, do you remember? Of the emptiness. Of doing things you do not enjoy in order to have a respectable life. It would be a lie if I told you that I am unfamiliar with them, with these experiences and although I am the God of Lies, I do not appreciate watching you lying to yourself, falsely believing that you can push through the torment on your own. I am making this offer, so that you don't have to feel like that any more.”.

A couple of minutes passed before she realised he was over with talking. Her lips parted, wanting to form words but being unable to. She only stared at him, as if he had just proposed to take down the moon for her to walk upon. Coherent thoughts and questions were unachievable for the moment, as her mind kept going back and forth, repeating his words, or at least, the majority of them, to make sure she had heard correctly.

She gained her control back gradually. Rationality, suspicion, reality coming back to her mind one at a time, nudging at her annoyingly. Suddenly, as if her brain wanted to escape all that, she spontaneously voiced the most random question, perhaps hoping at the same time that it would buy her a couple of seconds to mentally regroup.

“My... my... song... it should have stopped by now... hasn't your-”.

“No, we are still safe little one. Time works differently inside the spell' s shield. What would be two minutes in the real world, is in fact, an hour in here. You need not worry about it”, he interrupted, not exactly sure that her question was part of a normal reaction to his heartfelt confession.

Andrea managed to nod and successfully unwrap her fingers from his, but only because he allowed her to. She didn't want to let him go, but the intimate contact was distracting her greatly and she couldn't afford a blurry mind as she carefully considered the offer he so foolishly thought simple. It wasn't. None of the things he requested were simple. Each and every one, was complicated in its own way and should she accept to follow his requests she would be forced to deal with the consequences of all of them.

She ran a fingertip against the roughness of the leather strap, careful not to touch his skin at all, and giving him her best calculative and bargaining look, she said, with half the confidence she pretended to have in this moment, “ You said your mother once told you that if a woman gives you a piece of herself you ought to keep it and cherish it. My mother wasn't that gentle with her advices, and so she once told, me, that if a man makes an offer, he usually wants something big in return. So what is your price, Sir?”, she concluded and crossed her arms over her chest to appear more in control of the situation. Although now that she replayed her words, she was shocked to find out, that they secretly suggested that she was indeed thinking about this offer. She didn't feel comfortable with how much power that could give him, for he surely caught that suggestion, he was not a fool.

He chuckled playfully, admiring her cunning, before he began analysing his terms, which of course, existed. There was a price to his benevolence. There always was, “ The price, pet, is as simple as the offer. First of all, I demand...” and he purposefully put emphasis on the last word, “... that you call me by my name. 'Sir', is not it. Secondly...”, he continued, sneakily entwining their fingers again, “... I would ask for whatever you're willing to give me. That could mean, just a smile in the mornings, before you leave for your lectures, or the pleasure of your company when we are dinning, or the quick wit you so often exhibit but don't give yourself credit for. Know that, even though I've had my moments of violence in the past, I will never force you to do things or subject you to anything you' re not ready for, as I am sure they do here, tonight being a fair example”, she looked at him then with hopeful eyes and nodded in agreement at the truth of his words, before he smiled encouragingly and continued, “ Lastly, I would require that you dance for me, once a week. You are free to choose the day, though I will insist upon this last term quite fiercely. Not only because it brings me pleasure to watch you writhe under the music, but also because your dancing is your way of talking and my watching is my way of listening and this you cannot deny. You felt it from the first time I saw you on that stage. I can read you and I can sense you and I can assure you that if you accept my offer, you' ll realise in your own time, why any kind of communication is vital to me”, he finished, his eyes still locked on hers, waiting for a response.

Simple? His price was simple? He actually called that simple? Did he even know the meaning of the word? Calling him by his name was intimacy she was not ready to exhibit with a man she just met. Giving him pieces of herself daily had an undertone of sweet submission she was sure he would revel in and dancing for him would cost her her control. This was all too much for her to decipher, accept and come to terms with right away, even though her entire being screamed for surrender. But that was probably due to his honey dripping voice and flattery and smell and touch and...

“Can I have some time to think about it? It's all too sudden and you're... I am...”, she didn't know how to finish this really, but his calming tone soothed her, as he accepted her plea.

“Of course you can. You do not need to rush your decision little dancer. Though I want you to remember the severity of this matter, for if you say yes, I doubt I' ll have the strength to ever let you go”, he replied in a stern voice. Of course he could have been softer, but if he had, she wouldn't have gifted him with her shivers.

“Of course”, she replied in the same tone, but found it hard to keep her voice from shaking.

The corners of his mouth twitched into an understanding smile and with no small amount of hesitation, he let go of her fingers, giving her a silent signal that she was free to leave.

Andrea got up from his lap, finding a steady footing on the ground once more. His eyes followed her every move, as she stood in front of him for a while, hesitant to go. Wrapping her arms around her in nervousness, she realised that she was still wearing his coat. She was reminded that it didn't belong to her and that she was obliged to give it back.

She looked to him for a moment, as the shame flooded her and briefly wondered if she was putting herself in these uncomfortable procedures or if it was them that found and trapped her in their nets. With shaking fingers, she began to undo the buttons, but his stern, seductive voice stopped her.

“Do you really think I will send you out there naked?”. There was something particularly disarming about the way he said the last word that made her knees weak. _Would you?_ , she wondered honestly. What if he liked exhibiting what he had supposedly ruined tonight?

“Keep it. You can give it to me tomorrow”, he added then and her heart flew back to its place.

“Thank you”, she whispered with her eyes on the ground.

Without a final look of goodbye, she went out the door, as quiet as a cat.

 

***

 

Loki had exited the room shortly after her. The illusion had followed their movements, so the moment she abandoned the room, the false depiction of her did too. The same thing had happened to his own as well. He was now sitting at the bar with an expensive Jack Daniels and a deep need to drown himself with it. For a moment he thought that he was no different than Val, who on the slightest note of emerging feelings, opened a bottle and washed them back down forcefully.

It was vulnerability he couldn't get used to and back in that room, where they had been forced together, that was all he had felt, apart from sheer desire. During those moments, everything he had said to her hadn't come out his mouth with a filter. Just with a few words he had admitted loneliness, need and yearning.

In his original plan, he hadn't counted on... sentiments to get her to say yes. He had planned to present her with logical reasons why she should immediately abandon her lodgings and her job and come live with him. In fact, he hadn't even planned to sweet talk her into it. He would have simply taken what he wanted, even if that meant, carrying her over his shoulder back to the penthouse and chaining her to the bed.

But in those moments with her, none of that mattered. He couldn't see further than her beauty. He couldn't feel anything else apart from her touch. He couldn't form thoughts of his own, because he had been too concentrated on hers. All that had mattered to him was her eyes and his truth, a realisation that put fear in his very stone cold heart. The sheer need to take her out of here and make her his had clouded his judgement and the scariest part was... he liked it.

In the past, women usually threw themselves at his feet, begging to be taken. All of them so willing and wanton, but not her. She had managed tonight , in her bare and pure form, to draw the wantonness out of, him, and hadn't even taken advantage of that fact or perhaps she wasn't sure herself what feelings she stirred within him. He hated and loved it at the same time how vulnerable he could be with her, the prospect of it, arousing and terrifying him at the same time. All he needed was her. And all she needed was protection and someone to take the burden of constantly being off her shoulders. She just had to realise that on her own. Then, she would accept him and his most gracious offer.

She came into the main area and his thoughts got scattered around, as without a glance towards him, she stormed off the building, using his coat as a shield.

He silently whispered his goodnight and turned back to his mind numbing liquids, until a group of, probably, unreasonably drunk boys, interrupted him with their roaring laughters. They were exiting the club, one stumbling upon the back of the other.

Loki scoffed and started pouring himself drink after drink, attempting to get as drunk as a God could get, not that Midgardian drinks could help him achieve that, of course. Trying wouldn't hurt though.

 

***

 

1:00, in the early morning

 

_...rape, murder, it's just a shot away..._

 

 

 

She walked on and on without stopping. Her heart thumped in her chest and all of her pulse points pounded with blood. She opened her mouth and inhaled rapidly the cold air, in hopes that it would clear her head and help her understand all of his words and actions tonight. Thank the heavens, her ability to observe could be resembled to Sherlock Holmes', otherwise Loki would remain an enigma.

The way he touched her was unique, intimate and raw. The way he had commanded her to touch him was stern, yet urging and needy. Tonight they weren't just pretending for the cameras. This ordeal had been a slight adjustment to his plans, for that she was sure of. Emotion like that, didn't just pour out of the God of Mischief. He was proving a point, that she wanted him, and in return for her responses, he had shown her the gentle, soft, reassuring side of himself. He didn't only speak to her that way, he behaved as well. Rubbing the small of her back, kissing her hands, tangling their fingers in trusting grips, as if she was something to be worshipped and highly treasured. He protected her. He cared for her. He made her feel perfectly exposed only to have her revel in that feeling moments after. He was rough at first, because he was trying to take control of a situation that had gone completely out of her hands, and he was gentle, in the end, because he had wanted to be. He held himself back, while he had every opportunity to take whatever he desired from her. He manoeuvred her softly, yet sternly, instead of forcing his will upon her.

In conclusion, Loki Laufeyson was the most complicated and broken individual she had ever come across and the deciphering of his many layers of personas was the hardest thing she had ever been called upon to do. And this freezing pavement was definitely not the place to solve him and make a life changing decision.

Suddenly, she heard laughter from somewhere behind her. A silly type of laughter, and it startled her so much that she turned her head around to check where it had come from, all the while squeezing Loki's coat around her. Everything was dark, but she eventually noticed a company of five boys, stumbling upon each other, obviously drunk beyond their minds, and punching one another at the shoulders, in that way men use to tease.

Her gut warned her that she should walk faster while keeping a watchful eye on them. Drunk people could get absolutely mindless, she knew that all too well from the youths back in her home country. Thus, she set a rapid pace, but as her steps became wider and more hurried, so did theirs. Then, to her great dread, one of them called her name into the night.

“Hey Andrea... wai-...wait up”, but she pretended not to listen to the all familiar voice of Sam and instead kept on going, hoping that he would think she was someone else.

But then, she heard them run towards her and no matter how much she tried to push her fear and panic away, she couldn't. They reached her in an instant, despite their drunkennesses and suddenly her path was blocked by three figures, while the other two, settled behind her.

“Hey, hey, hey, shit, we forgot. They don't call you 'Andrea' in there, do they? What is it?”, he scratched his head, feign forgetfulness and then his eyes went falsely wide, “Oh, it's Little V!! Wonder what that means”, he chuckled and the rest followed his example.

How could this be possible? Had they seen her in the club? Why? How?

As she remained silent, trying to find a way to escape them, she noticed that the two guys behind her, Nick and Timothy, seemed to be sniffing something from the back of their hands. She thought in an instant that it was certainly coke. This generation's recipe consisted of that, booze and school shootings.

They got distracted with each other for a moment and she found her chance to bolt away using the empty space on her left, but Sam noticed her and grabbed her by the elbow, yanking her back against the wall of a building. She hit her head and back on the hard stone and the air abandoned her lungs for an agonizing split second, yet when it returned, with it brought rage.

“Where do you think you're going?”, Nick asked mockingly and upon hearing his hateful voice, Andrea's jaw tightened. Her body washed itself in adrenaline and her mind blurred out.

Everything this anger brought, was clouding her judgement, leaving her only with the acute desire to hurt them.

She dropped her bag on the ground and without thinking twice, she lunged at him, hitting his nose with her forehead and succeeding in knocking him off balance. She sensed movement from behind her and so turned around quickly to catch Sam's wrist just at the right time, before his fist could connect with the back of her head. She squeezed the bone under her grip, manipulating his entire arm, until it was positioned under her armpit and before he had the chance to pull away, she gave a swift jerking motion backwards, dislocating his shoulder. He yelped from the unexpected pain, as Andrea let go and elbowed him at the rib, making him stumble backwards. Shocked and confused as he was, he clutched at his shoulder with his other hand.

Again, she tried to bolt off, but the remaining boys in front of her gave her a hard push, forcing her backwards, where she fell on top of Timothy. She quickly propped herself in her arms, gave him a kick in the balls and got up to defend herself against the rest of them, her hands balled in angry fists.

It was then that she saw the glint of a small pocket knife, small yes, but still very sharp and dangerous. All it took was one swift move and the blade cut sharply across her thigh, slicing open the leather of her trousers and then her skin. Wincing from the pain, she lowered her hands to add pressure to the newly made wound, whilst trying to steady her body against the stone wall.

As the pain started to tingle, from the exposure of her skin to the cold, and her senses numbed out, she briefly forgot about the boys, or better the animals that were assaulting her. So, when she saw their looming figures closing in on her, drunk and in some sort of trance from the drugs, she panicked and moved away, resulting in her being trapped in a dead end alley, with three remaining men to fight against.

“I knew you were a slut, but I hadn't realised you exercised it as a profession”, Nick said, holding his bleeding nose and looking at her with his pupils blown wide.

“Did you fuck him? Laufeyson? Did you give it to him nice and dirty? We were really wondering, since you took him upstairs...”, Sam added from somewhere behind them, huffing and puffing and holding his immobilised arm. Now they were four again.

With the last shreds of anger dissipating, Andrea shouted, “Get the fuck away from me!”, but as soon as the last word left her mouth, the boy she didn't know lunged at her with his knife and clumped her mouth with his palm, hissing in her ear to shut up. For the split second Andrea looked him in the eyes, she noted that his pupils were dilated too.

“Could you fuck us too, oh sweet Little V. We... we...”, Nick coed menacingly, but then it seemed like his trail of thought got lost somewhere.

Her panic and fear consumed every single shell of her body and so she began thrusting in agony out of the man's hold, but all she achieved was getting herself punched in her lower belly. Her knees bent, from the sudden pain, and she collapsed on the ground with a thump that surely bruised them. The cut in her thigh, suddenly gushed blood, probably from the new pressures added to her leg.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she caught sight of the boys tearing at her clothes leisurely and soon, with Loki's coat now in shreds, they moved to her sweater and pants, cutting some of it with the knife.

She didn't know why they did this, but another blow landed her rib, knocking the air out of her and when she inhaled again, it was in gasps and whines.

She found the courage to scream one more time for someone to help her, before a fist connected with her eye and cheekbone, stripping her off her senses completely. She fell to the hard, unforgiving ground and her eyes flattered shut.

 

 

 

Loki winced violently from the invisible blow that landed on this cheekbone and eye, but as he recovered rapidly from the alcohol, he realised that no one had struck him.

His first thought was the worst. This wasn't something that had happened to him. His mind must have connected to hers while he had been getting drunk, thinking about her.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on her image in order to locate her, when suddenly the absence of any emotion had him panicking. Instead, all he felt, was little stabs of pain in his legs and a rough tugging of his body.

The image that finally popped in his mind, had him teleporting to a dead end alley in less than a split second, as some boys he had seen before in the club, were manipulating the body of his woman to their liking. Spreading her thighs, slicing her skin as if it was the most monumental thing in the world to see the blood slip away and down onto the ground. They even dared to tug at her undergarments with their filthy hands.

His control was nowhere to be found as he strode closer, summoning his armour and gaining extra madness from the leather grazing his skin roughly.

He lunged at the men surrounding her body, dragging them away by their necks and hair, not caring about the loudness of their guttural cries and protests. He tossed each one aside and murmured a spell that threw them unconscious in an instant. In less than a split second he was whispering another enchantment and opened a portal to Muspelheim, Surtur's previous kingdom that was now completely dead and abandoned, and threw their sleeping bodies inside, making sure that the opening he had created in time and space was closed shut, without causing abnormalities on Earth. He would deal with those boys later.

Once all that was settled, he knelt beside the little dancer's bruised and bloodied figure. He snaked his arms under and around her, lifting her with care .

Seeing her like this, unconscious, half naked and almost raped, made the anger inside him boil and fester like a disease, but he swallowed it down. She didn't need his anger now, she needed his care.

The green and golden mist surrounded both of their bodies and they were back to his penthouse soon after, where the lights in the bedroom, revealed to him in how serious a state her body was.

He cautiously laid her on his bed, and began to work.

 

 

 

11:00, in the morning

 

 

… _gimme , gimme shelter, or I'm gonna fade away..._

 

 

 

_Tears welled up in her eyes and her breathing quickened dangerously, as she lost all vision of his menacing body, looming over her and was brutally transported back to the alley..._

She wasn't currently with him, in the present. She was remembering the past. He watched her struggle to keep it at bay, only for it to come back ten times stronger and evoke more tears from her eyes. She kept mumbling confused non sense in her language, which were barely coherent, but her next words had Loki convinced that she had to be brought back to the present, where he could comfort her with everything he possessed.

“His coat...where is his coat? What did you do with it?”, she mumbled, touching her shoulders with trembling hands, looking around at the invisible faces, searching answers in invisible eyes.

He took a step towards her and apparently it was all she needed to snap herself back to reality. Could have been the echo of his footsteps, or the rustling of his armour.

“Where am I?”, she asked him, turning her gaze towards him, eyes confused, disoriented and full of tears she wasn't even noticing, “Where am I? What are you...”, she mumbled more urgently when he didn't answer.

“You' re in my place and are experiencing delayed adrenaline waves, so you need to-”, but she wasn't listening, even if he was providing her with an answer.

The same shocks he was talking about just now, began to claim her. Her shoulders started shaking up and down uncontrollably, same applied to her fingers and legs. Her head snapped abruptly towards various locations and spots, as she was struggling to familiarize herself with the space around her. But all these movements were making her nauseous.

“My head hurts... why, why does my head hurt?”, she placed a palm on her cheek and when she winced in pain, she remembered about the swelling she had observed there, some moments ago, “Did they hit me on the face?”, she asked him in a terribly calm tone, but Loki knew that soon she wouldn't be able to control her emotions and he would not be able to do anything about it. He just preferred for that to happen while she was wrapped in his arms, tightly held and soothingly talked to.

“Andrea, listen to me darling”, he tried again, this time coming much closer to her than before and extending a hand to touch her other cheek, but upon seeing him move towards her, she took a sharp inhale of breath and flinched away, to the point where she crawled on the other side of the bed, her legs kicking aimlessly and tiredly at the now haphazard blanket he had used to cover her with.

“Get away... don't touch me like that”, she kept repeating through sobs and tiny hiccups.

Her reaction was like a stab to the heart, but is wasn't her fault. If it was anyone's fault that she had ended up beaten up like this, it was his. If only he had been there , if only he had followed her out and saw her home safely instead of letting her go out into the night alone. If he hadn't been so eager to drown his sorrows and insecurities...

He clenched his fists , digging his fingernails into his palms. The physical pain grounded him and reminded him that once again, his feelings did not matter. All that mattered was her and the care he had to bestow on her, even against her will.

“Andrea I-”.

“My legs...”, she whispered then, forgetting him completely, “... so sore, why...why are they so sore?”, she said as she grabbed her inner and outer thighs. In her state she didn't see that the reason for the soreness were the cuts adorning her skin.

Then she clutched at her lower belly and hissed in pain. Through heavy panting she whispered, “ It hurts... why...”, but then her eyes grew wide and locked to his own stern ones, “ They did this to me, didn't they? I was uncon...unconscious and they...”, Loki began shaking his head like a madman, as he strode hastily around the bed, where she had positioned herself.

“Andrea, no!”, he exclaimed, hoping that his voice would vibrate through her and convince her that what she had in her mind was false.

Still standing, he touched her shoulders, attempting to gather her up and place her back on a lying position, but she flinched again and in her state of fear slapped his hands away, and after jerking upwards, she began crawling on the other side, wanting off this strange bed that was not her own.

He didn't let her get far, though. He leaned a bit over the expanse of the bed and grabbed her by the ankle. She screamed hopelessly, as he dragged her back towards him and the green shirt he had dressed her with after tending to the bruises on her belly and rib was now being bunched up on her chest and upper back exposing her lacy black panties to him. When he had been discarding the rest of her ripped apart clothes, he had so wanted to relieve her from those as well, since they were now a bit torn and worn out from the boys' disgusting ministrations. But he hadn't taken them off of her, deciding that if she asked were they had gone, it would make her feel extremely uncomfortable to know that he had stripped her from them.

He flipped her around, so she was lying on her back and caught her forearms, wrapping firm fingers around them. If she did not stop moving so abruptly she would open up her cuts, especially the big one on her outer thigh that had needed stitches.

“Leave me alone!”, she screamed in his face through tears and sobs.

“Andrea please-”, but his plea was rewarded with a sharp kick on his knee by the heel of her foot.

For the moment it took him to grunt, more from surprise than actual pain, she had managed to slip from his hold and go to the middle of the bed using kicks and thrusts.

He ended up climbing on the bed too, following her on his knees, while she kept hissing from the pain in her body.

He caught both ankles this time and dragged her downwards. Grabbing her forearms again, he lifted her whole body off the mattress, so she was sitting on her knees, like him, and pulled her flash against his body.

“Look at me!”, he barked, and she suddenly ceased her fighting, red, hesitant eyes ascending his sharp face to reach his own. In a softer tone he reassured her, “Nobody raped you little one. Yes, they hurt you, and yes, they knocked you unconscious, but no one... no one, touched you like that”, he put some extra emphasis on the second 'no one', to shake her beautiful mind out of the twisted scenario it was nurturing.

New tears spilled from her eyes, followed by a few negative shakes of her head, “If you're lying to me...stop...”, she pleaded, her voice breaking and her palms punching him weakly on the chest.

She tried to move away, although this time without thrashing and kicking, rather attempting to push him as far away from her as possible, but he was relentless and instead of letting her go, he lowered them both on the bed.

He sat down, leaning his back against the headboard, armour still on and spread his legs so that he could fit her between them. Though her head collapsed easily upon his chest, her palms kept punching with no strength at all at his shoulders. Her legs were positioned tightly against her chest, pushing her figure into a small ball. He wrapped his arms around her, one snaking down to hold at her waist tightly and the other over her shaking shoulders. He rocked her back and forth, while whispering sweet things in her ear to soothe her. She kept crying and punching, but he didn't mind it.

Soon she exhausted herself and gave up the physical struggle, switching from hitting to leaning against him, as if she depended on him to keep her from falling apart. She shook violently and wept uncontrollably, overtaken by a second adrenaline wave, staining the leather and the metal that adorned him.

“Shh, hush pet, shh... you're safe now”, he murmured against the top of her head repeatedly, “ I'm here... I got you...”, and to his great joy she heard him, for, as if she wanted to confirm his presence, she hesitantly snaked an arm around his middle, and placed the other upon his bicep. She gave a squeeze, as a small sniffing sob escaped her.

He half smiled, thankful that she wasn't pushing at him any more and whispered against her hair, “ Stretch your legs darling, it is more comfortable like that”.

And she did as he said. She untangled her legs from her chest and slowly let them glide on the mattress between his own. Loki marvelled at their length, even though she lay exhausted and limbless on top of him.

He made a twisting motion with his fingers and the black, furry blanket crawled its way over them. Underneath it, his hold of her changed a bit. He kept the arm around her waist, but the other went to her head to smooth her hair away from her tear stained face.

He kept hushing her, repeating in a breathy voice that she would be alright and that he would take care of her, until she fell asleep with her arms still squeezing him in her slumber.

He breathed in her scent deeply and soon his own exhaustion kicked in and though he wanted to stay up and watch over her, his eyes closed.

 


	9. motherly care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki takes his anger out on the people that hurt Andrea, while she makes a new friend and alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning people! How are you all doing? How are you all feeling today? Chapter 9 is ready to be read and I hope you enjoy it. Personally, I only enjoyed writing the scene in Muspellheim. The rest is a little bit sad, well not exactly sad, but you get it, it's not happy either. Anyways. Let's get down to it.   
> 1) Warnings: mentions of rape, mentions of torture//punishment, actual torture (both mental and physical), mind games (or just mild manipulation, I'd call it), Loki goes a bit bananas, injury descriptions (both minor and major), whipping.   
> 2) Some pictures I was inspired by:  
> So, Loki's penthouse has no walls whatsoever and no rooms, besides the bathroom which is secluded. It's very open, as a space. If I find a good enough depiction of it I will put the link here so you get a taste. But for now, I can show you bedroom and bathroom.   
> That's the bedroom: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/56/43/ac/5643acb1d3864276f655c98648e84901.jpg , I wish I had a bedroom like that to be honest. The only thing I want you to exclude from the picture is the mirrors right and left of the bed and the pictures behind it and by it. That's all. And just imagine it even darker than that! Oh and to avoid any misunderstandings, I don't know if you remember chapter 3 where Loki throws knives against a 'brick" wall, but let me clarify, that that is the wall where the front door is. The rest of the walls are covered by that lacquered wood.   
> And that's the bathroom. Actually that's: https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/405746247673175628/ what I wanted to describe, but I thought that it didn't really fit Loki's style. I mean, look at that wall. It was a little absurd and way too modern. And so much light? Loki is dark, he can't have so much light inside a bathroom. And so, this is what I went with: https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/405746247673175647/ , because it was just the right amount of dark and the colour of the tiles reminded me of a general feeling of decay, it reflects Loki's current inner world.   
> Now, a little style advice for you. The following links show what Andrea wears while in Loki's penthouse.   
> This is the underwear: https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/405746247673176146/  
> This is the shirt/sweater: https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/405746247673176134/  
> 3) Language translations:   
> Oh mio dio, più bella = oh my god, so pretty  
> Lei è italiana, Signora Granzioni? = Are you Italian, Mrs Granzioni?  
> Sì, sono italiana. E tu sei grecha, no? = Yes, I am Italian. And you are Greek, no?  
> Sì, sono grecha ma parlo l' italiano un po' = Yes, I am Greek but I speak a little bit of Italian  
> Grazie tante = Thank you very much   
> (What can I say, I am just in love with that European vibe. It has nothing to do with the fact that I am European though. I just like the different languages and cultures. And the architecture. Oh lord, the architecture!!!). 
> 
> So, that was all for today. Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, they are all very appreciated. I hope I gave you a good picture of how Loki's place looks like. More pictures are coming in the next chapters, don't you worry. I know my space descriptions are awful, so I have seen to it! In my mind it's a lot darker, but I just couldn't find anything better. Again, thank you and have a very nice day!

Loki opened his eyes at the sound of a key turning inside the lock. The weight against his body had him gazing down through half open lids and when he realised that he had slept with her in his arms, a small, perhaps even timid, smile found its way to his lips.

Until this moment, he hadn't understood how important it was to have the right body against you while you dozed off, dangerously letting down all your defences. He hadn't trusted anyone like that before, yet the more he felt the strength of her grip on his arm and middle, the more convinced he became that he could, just this once, trust someone enough to sleep beside them, or in this case, under them. Such new a thing it was, both for him and for her. This newfound clinging to one another.

Mrs Granzioni entered the spacious penthouse and locked behind her, wistfully humming to herself, but when she turned around she fell quiet and her eyes widened in surprise as she caught glimpse of the two controversial figures who lay on the bed. One was sleeping and the other was staring back at her elderly face.

Loki, dressed in that grandiose battle armour of his, was sitting up on the bed and a girl, young and beautiful, who must be the dancer he kept talking about, was sleeping happily, nestled between his long legs. Both were covered with a black furry blanket. The old woman blinked twice to make sure that she had seen correctly.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Loki put a finger on his lips, silently warning her to keep quiet. With the same finger, he indicated towards the kitchen. Mrs Granzioni nodded with her head and bend forward to remove her heels, before walking to where he had told her to go, trying not to make too much noise in the process.

Loki used his magic to lift Andrea's body just enough for him to slip out of bed and then gently laid her down on the mattress again, putting a soft pillow under her head. He covered her up to the shoulders with the blanket and tucked a mischievous strand of hair behind her ear. Gazing down at her peaceful face, he felt reluctant about leaving, but he went to the kitchen anyway.

The concerned housekeeper was leaning against the counter with her arms folded in front of her chest, waiting for him to explain the situation.

Loki leaned against the island, in the middle of the kitchen, positioning himself across from her, his face blank, expressionless.

He rubbed his temples with his fingers and exhaled deeply, struggling to find a smooth introduction to the subject. But it was impossible to concentrate and so he began head first, “ She was nearly raped last night...”, and watched as Mrs Granzioni's hand came up on her mouth to stifle a shocked gaspe.

He didn't wait for her to calm down or to ask any questions. He didn't have time for that. Thus he went on explaining all the events that had lead up to that horrible moment in the alley, in perfect chronological order.

He talked about how the people who ran the club had practically thrown her, naked and scared, at his feet and how they had forced her to do things she had never agreed to. He mentioned the disturbing matter of the cameras at the private rooms, positioned carefully at the ceilings in order to record the women when they were with men, not failing at expressing his revulsion and low feelings about humans and their repulsive desire to make money out of human flesh. He spoke of the offer he had made her as well, and her puzzling reaction to it. Already being aware that the deal was unconventional, at least by Midgardian standards, he had been surprised with the way she had taken it. It had been a breath of fresh air to watch another person actually consider his words, even if it was indirect and had lasted for just a few minutes.

Something inside him lightened as he retold everything that had transpired, but the moment he reached the worst part of the night, that lightness evaporated and left anger in its place. He now harboured a newfound fury, whose waves managed to slip out of his body through the distressed tone of his voice or through the way he clenched and unclenched his fists, aching to punch something.

“When I found her they were four of them, four against one, all gathered around her as if she was some kind of prize”, he shook his head disbelievingly, “ If I hadn't gotten there in time they would have-”.

“But you did... get there in time, Loki darling. And she's safe now”, Mrs Granzioni cut in, resting a supportive hand on his shoulder to emphasize her point.

“Is she?”, Loki huffed, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips, “ Some hours ago she couldn't tell between memory and reality, Lucia”, he stated. He didn't use the housekeeper's first name often, but it was an indication that things were serious and the old woman understood that immediately.

“Maybe. Maybe she couldn't”, she somewhat agreed, squeezing his shoulder, “ But you helped her get through it. And now she is safe again. Because of you. Don't forget that. Don't undermine it, Loki”, she advised and when she saw him nod in agreement, she let go and moved on to equally important questions.

“How is her health? Any major injuries?”.

“ Her thighs are full of small cuts and her knees are a bit scraped, but I saw to both last night, worry not. There was a larger and deeper cut on her outer thigh that bled uncontrollably, but I stitched it and the bleeding stopped. However, I do not know if it will heal as fast as the other smaller ones. My salves are powerful, but...”, he paused for a moment, as images of him maniacally trying to stop the blood loss flooded his mind, “... that bastard was thorough”.

After squeezing his fingernails into his palms to calm down, he continued, “ Her upper body is also severely bruised, as is her right cheekbone. Punching was probably their way of subduing her”.

Mrs Granzioni rubbed her neck and swallowed hard, trying to maintain her own calm, “ Is there anything you can do to make her heal faster? Your magic? Something?”.

“There is and I shall. But not now”, he informed while he abandoned the kitchen island, “ There are a few matters I have to address first”.

With that being said, he stretched his arms in front of him and produced three small bottles out of thin air. He carefully set them on the island motioning for Mrs Granzioni to come closer.

“ When she wakes up she will be incredibly stiff, so draw her a bath and put these liquids inside”, he ordered and when the woman nodded quickly, he resumed his explanations, “ The blue one will peel any dead cells off her skin. The red one will make sure that none of her wounds are infected- the process might sting a little-, and this one...”, he indicated at the bottle whose contents had no colour, “... will prepare her skin for my magic. It's vital that she rubs it carefully on her bruises before washing it off. Understood?”.

When Mrs Granzioni nodded in understanding once more, he proceeded in producing new clothes for his little dancer and fresh undergarments. He handed them to the woman and said, “ Dress her. Unfortunately...”, he smirked, “ I cannot allow her to wear trousers. The cuts are quite fresh and I cannot risk the stitches splitting due to the friction”.

The woman nodded again and made to speak, but Loki cut her off, “ Prepare her a meal and make sure she eats all of it. She needs her strength back. When she's done, put her in my bed. Unless she needs to visit the bathroom, she is not to move”.

And with that he turned around and began opening a portal to Muspelheim, where the five unfortunate assailants awaited their punishment.

“Loki, wait”, the housekeeper pleaded just before he stepped foot inside the demons' kingdom, “You should be the one tending to her, not me. She needs to see a familiar face when she wakes up. Whatever you have to do can perhaps wait for a little longer”.

He clenched his fists at his sides, struggling to find faults in the woman's suggestion. There were none. He knew that he had to stay, yet he couldn't possibly. Not when his mind was in a frenzied state. Not when his control was slipping through his fingers and not when red was all he saw. He couldn't be around Andrea right now. Not when the guilt was eating him inside out.

“It cannot wait”, he stated, allowing his anger to coat his words so that Mrs Granzioni would drop it, “ I, cannot sit here and face her when the people that harmed her remain unpunished. She deserves justice and that is what I'll give her”.

“And what are you going to do? Punish them yourself? Have you gone mad?”.

“Possibly”, was all he said, before disappearing inside the massive hole in time and space.

 

***

 

 

Andrea woke up after the sun had gone down. It seemed odd to her, since the first time she had woken up, the morning light was washing this very space. But now, everything was dark.

She took a look at the circular clock above the bed and saw that it was 19:45. Sitting up with no small amount of difficulty, she realised that there was no sign of Loki and with something that resembled sadness filling her inside, wondered where he could have possibly gone to. She was just beginning to understand how lonely she felt when he was not around. When his physical presence did not invade her personal space. She had grown so used to him somehow that it reached the point of ridiculousness. Before, they had only been meeting once a night to exchange a few words, keep company on one another and then part, with a shy smile and a kiss on the hand. And during those times, all she wanted to do was create some distance between herself and him, but that had changed, too soon for her comfort.

Now she longed for nearness. For closeness. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he had saved her. Perhaps it hadn't. She just wanted him to be here, even though she knew that the minute she would lay eyes upon him she would be filled with shame due to the early morning freaked out phase she had gone through.

She had acted like a crazy person, there was no denying it. Kicking, punching, screaming, not understanding that he was only trying to help her calm down. And so, now that she was in her right mind, the need to apologize for the dramatic performance burned hot within her, but right now she could do nothing about it, because he was simply... not... here.

She squirmed on the bed, trying not to move her sore legs too much and by the soft impact of the fabric against her arse, she was reminded that this was, his, bed. The two beautifully manufactured night stands on either side of it, made out of the darkest wood, were his. The spacious, walk-in wardrobe, tucked inside the grey brick wall was his. The dark emerald carpet that stretched on the floor beside and underneath the bed was his. Turning her head towards the window she spotted two wooden chairs on either side of it, stocked with books of various sizes and colours. These were his too. If everything was his then why did it all seem so familiar? Why did she feel welcome and comfortable in this strangely beautiful apartment that belonged to an equally strangely beautiful man?

 _Objects, all of them objects_ , she pouted inwardly, surprised at her own reactions. She didn't long for the objects and spaces that reminded her of him. She yearned for the man himself. For the way he had grabbed her when she couldn't control her own mind and body and for the way he had embraced her, wrapped her in his arms, caressed and reassured her that everything would be alright with hushing sounds and gentle words. And with no equivocation she had accepted all of it, because she needed all of it. All the safety he could give her and all the warmth he could surround her with.

She was aware that a week's time was barely enough to be in a man's private lodgings, lazily sitting on his bed, mostly sleeping on it too and going around wearing nothing but your underwear and a shirt that looked to be his, but right now, she couldn't care less and that scared her a bit. She feared recklessness, yet on the other hand that fuzzy feeling in her stomach was stronger than any modesty, inhibition or doubt.

She leaned her head back on the bedpost and reminisced the feel of his leather clad chest and taught body pressing against her good ribs and against her head. It was almost ironic how she still believed both herself and him, as two people instead of one whole person. Every time he breathed, she did too. Every time his heart pounded a little faster, hers magically matched the rhythm. Every time he tightened his grip around her waist, she squeezed his middle harder, just to make sure that the touch she had felt was real and present. Every time he smoothed directionless strands of hair out of her face, she felt safe and cared for and she wanted that, much more than she was willing to admit.

Had they both fallen asleep after she had relaxed and closed her eyes or had he remained tense and alert? Or had he left? Again... why wasn't he here? Her mind kept repeating that very question in the same annoying way until her temples started to itch.

Steps, coming towards her pulled her out of her thoughts and she immediately prepared her apology for her previous tantrum. But the person that came into view wasn't her menacing dark God, but an old woman with grey hair that reached her shoulders and a lovely wide smile across her face. Andrea tensed up in the woman's presence, although she hardly looked hostile. Just elderly and welcome. But the girl followed her with her eyes confused, as she came to stand at the foot of the bed, hands clasped in front of her.

“I see you are awake my dear. Lovely! We have a lot of things to do”, she exclaimed suddenly and Andrea was sure that the woman's accent was tinged with a slight European vibe.

“Excuse me, but, who are you if I may ask?”, she inquired politely.

The woman's breath hitched in her throat in stunned realisation and as she rested a palm on her cheek, she replied, “ Forgive me my dear. I was so anxious to follow Loki's instructions that I forgot my manners. I do apologize. My name is Lucia Granzioni, Loki's housekeeper and occasional life advisor”, she giggled at that last one.

Andrea couldn't help but laugh a little as well, but she stopped quickly when she realised that her ribs were giving her hell. Life advisor though? What need did Loki have of advice? The man seemed like he had the answers to everything. Surely this must be a joke between the two of them, although in her mind, it was really difficult to imagine him joking around with such a lovely, elderly woman.

“I am also renting him this penthouse, so you can understand... I have him at my mercy”, she added a whisper, as if she was sharing a big secret.

Andrea laughed again involuntarily and hissed from the pain in her upper body, but it was worth it. To witness a person joke about the God of Mischief when everyone else that she had seen around him had either avoided him completely or gossiped about him in hushed tones, was monumental. She realised that there was another name in the list of people who could actually tolerate him and talk to him as an equal.

“It's nice to meet you. I'm Andrea, his...”, she hesitated for a moment. What was she to him really? A dancer? A damsel in distress? A trainee concubine?, “... friend, I guess”, she filled in and then added with a half smile, “ I didn't know he had a housekeeper”.

“Well, he doesn't mention me very often, but...”, she took a few steps towards the younger woman, the heels of her shoes clicking on the floor, “ … he told me about you darling”, and the smile she previously wore, gradually dissipated from her face.

“He told you about me? What... what did he say?”, Andrea asked, trying to understand how much shame she would allow herself to feel in the presence of the housekeeper. Yet she still harboured some hope that he had described her at least a bit decently and hadn't mentioned a lot about her current occupation.

“Well, everything, my dear. But I want you to know that I am not judging in the slightest. I understand that sometimes in life, the things we do come from a place of real need. You are very strong. Very brave. I just wish that you didn't have to make decisions and sacrifices like these in such a young age”, she confided tilting her body forward to pet Andrea's head affectionately, “ I am also, really, really sorry for what happened to you. I have daughters of my own and I don't know what I would do if... if even a hair on their heads was touched...”.

Andrea forced a weak smile, admiring the woman's genuine words, “ Thank you for your understanding, Mrs Granzioni, it means a lot”, and then added in a lighter tone, “ You said something about ''instructions'' before. What did you mean? Actually, where is he, do you know?”.

“Oh!”, she exclaimed, suddenly remembering and at the same time forgetting all about the sadness she felt for Andrea's situation, “ Right, right, chop chop, we have a lot to do, starting with a bath for you, my dear”, she said in a haste and motioned her to stand up, forgetting or ignoring Andrea' s question about Loki's whereabouts. She didn't mind not getting an answer now though, because the idea of a warm bath sounded extremely appealing.

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you”, she smiled up at the woman and pushed her furry blanket aside.

She made to get up on her own, but her legs just wouldn't support her equally. Her knees ached inside and with every stretch of her skin her cuts pulsed. And on top of all that, she could not stretch her body properly for some unknown reason. Maybe she was bruised. Yeah, that should be it, because if she remembered well they had punched her quite a lot. That's how she had dropped to her knees in the first place.

Andrea made a couple of tentative steps towards the door, she supposed lead to the bathroom, and with sadness and shame, noted that if she had problem with walking she would definitely be unable to wash her own body.

“I' m so embarrassed to ask you this Mrs Granzioni, but I think...”, she paused as she felt a sudden jolt of pain on her belly the moment she took a larger step, “... I think I am going to need help with that bath. I cannot even... walk right... I' m so-”.

“Embarrassed? Nonsense. What do you think I'm here for? I was going to help you whether you asked it or not”, she said in a high pitched tone and waved a hand dismissively, “ You don't have to worry about anything. I' ll take care of you”, she reassured and placed a supportive hand on Andrea's back, leading her inside a dark luxurious bathroom.

They were the most beautiful facilities Andrea had ever laid eyes upon. One would probably think that a bathroom was supposed to be simple and painted in light colours to look more welcoming and spacious, but this one, this one was the ultimate exception to that unwritten rule.

Dark brown tiles adorned both walls and floor and they were manufactured in a way that mimicked the lines and ridges of trees, giving an earthy look to the entirety of the space, preventing it from being too modern. The toilet and basin facilities were of a simple white colour, as is in most bathrooms, and comfortable to use. Above the basin hang an intricate mirror framed by intertwined wooden loops that resembled snake tails. It reflected Andrea's wild state of hair and Mrs Granzioni's knowing look of pride.

“You like it, don't you?”, she said, indicating with her head towards the mirror.

Andrea nodded positively, whispering something about its beauty while Mrs Granzioni took credit for the design, “ My late husband, Antonio, was a true artist. He took my simple sketch and carved the mirror into reality. Isn't it wonderful? Loki liked it so much that he kept it exactly where it is and added...”, she paused and flicked a switch on her left, “ … lights behind it, to give it more dimension”.

Andrea's eyes went wide once she saw how the light made the mirror look like it immersed itself through the wall. It was otherworldly and definitely defined and emphasized Loki's dark style.

“It's truly beautiful”, she stated and walked further inside, mindful not to pull any abused muscles.

She sat at the closed toilet seat, as Mrs Granzioni turned on the water and adjusted the temperatures, putting the plug in to fill the tub.

When she was done with that, she went to the kitchen to retrieve something and Andrea took the time to observe the smart design of the bathing facilities. Both bathtub and shower space were situated side by side and shielded with glass that separated both of them from the rest of the bathroom. You could enter through an opening in the glass, which might have been the frame of a door once. To her surprise though, there was nothing separating the tub from the shower, not even a curtain. Either Loki had never had a room mate before or he didn't hold modesty to high regard.

Mrs Granzioni returned with three small bottles in her hands. The liquids inside looked like shampoo, but Andrea wasn't sure about it.

“What are these?”, she asked as the older woman placed them by the tub' s edge and turned off the water.

“So, he said that the blue one is for peeling...”, she informed and poured it into the water and Andrea watched fascinated how it turned light blue, “... the red one is to disinfect any of the cuts, careful it might sting a little...”, she continued, grabbing the second bottle and mixing it with the blue. As ordinary, the water turned violet, “ … and this one...”, she said picking up the bottle with no colour in it and setting it under the light for inspection, “... is to prepare you for his magic, whatever that means”, but she didn't pour it into the water, as she had done with the other two, “ He said to rub it on your bruises”.

 _Bruises_ , she thought. _So I was right, I am purple all over._ But she didn't dwell on that for long, as a new thought nudged at her mind.

“His magic, you said? What is he going to do to me?”, she asked with a bit of concern tinting her voice.

“He didn't give me details, but if I had to guess, I would say that he plans on healing you deary”, she said and then after seeing Andrea's furrowed brows, added, “ Oh, don' t you worry now. He knows what he's doing. He is incredibly adept in healing practices. He has already done some work on your worst injuries”.

Andrea only nodded, ashamed to acknowledge the delightful flips of her stomach, as she thought of him touching her tenderly and doing... whatever he was going to do to her with those rough hands. She couldn't tell if she was excited about it or anxious to the point of vomiting.

“Let's get you out of those, shall we?”, the old woman suggested, bringing Andrea out of her thoughts.

She stood up, as straight as she could, and lifted her arms so that Mrs Granzioni could pull the sweat soaked green shirt off of her. Once that was done, she made quick work of discarding her dirty black panties. With the support of the woman's forearms, she got into the tub and sat down carefully, allowing the semi hot water to envelope her body and open up her pores.

She sank deeper and shuddered delightfully from the impact the water had on her skin, while her nostrils filled with the sweet aromas of lavender and something like passion fruit.

“Nothing stings right?”, Mrs Granzioni asked.

Andrea shrugged, “ No. Nothing. I guess there are no infections”. She felt a bit relieved that her bath would not include any unpleasant sensations and she began to play with the water, letting it drip between her fingers or drawing aimless patterns on the surface, until the housekeeper interrupted her with a giggle. Andrea looked up and noticed that she was holding two large bottles in her hands.

“ Let me do your hair. Are you more of the mint and honey type or the almond and rose petals?”, she read the ingredients in a mocking tone.

Andrea couldn't help but laugh at the sound of honey and rose petals. _So that's why you smell so fucking good_ , she thought amused. Well, what had she expected? He might be all tense and warrior like and he might unman all the other men with his manliness, but he wouldn't wash his hair with the sweat and blood of his enemies, now could he? But still, the thought that what she had smelled all those times she'd been around him was actually simple plants and honey was so... human, in a sense, that he suddenly didn't seem all that alien to her.

“Does he really put these in his hair?”, she asked disbelievingly, between giggles.

“These two and many more. If the hair is not perfect he does not leave the house”, the housekeeper joked, making Andrea smile widely. It was strange, but that small bit of information about him filled her with a sense of familiarity and a deep need to see him again. Or to run her fingers through his almond infused locks.

With seriousness returning in her voice, she made her choice, “ I think I' ll go with honey and mint”.

The old woman nodded and got to work. Pulling a wooden stool beside the bathtub, she grabbed the shower head and thoroughly rinsed Andrea's hair with warm water. She took a bit of the scented shampoo in her hands and began massaging it thoroughly against the younger girl's scalp. The sensation was magical and Andrea closed her eyes and revelled in the feeling of being treated with such care and affection.

Now that the two women had established a respectable level of intimacy and trust, Andrea thought of asking again the question that burned her alive since she woke up this afternoon.

“Where is he Mrs Granzioni?”, she began timidly, her tone sad and longing, “ I fell asleep in his arms, but when I woke up he wasn't there”.

The woman behind her stopped massaging for a while and allowed herself a deep breath before answering Andrea's rightful question.

“ He left this morning. I... I told him to stay. That his place is here, but... he is stubborn. He wouldn't listen”, she began rinsing the shampoo off Andrea's hair and continued, “ He said he cannot stay when the people that treated you so wrongly still remain unpunished. Oh... I dread to think what he' ll do to them. When he's angry, there is really no stopping him”.

If she had to be honest with herself, the young woman did not even care about her harassers' well being. She wanted them to suffer. She wanted them to be punished. To feel reduced and tormented, like she had felt on that alley. And whatever Loki was going to do or had already done to them, she would not be opposed to it or scold him for it. That cruel and unwavering part inside her was set afire the moment she felt the first wave of pain. If she couldn't get justice on her own, she would let Loki deliver it. In this aspect of things they were like minded. She just hoped that he didn't somehow...

“ He blames himself, doesn't he?”, she stated, trying to read between the lines and assess his need to punish, “ For what happened to me?”.

“I believe so, yes. But then again, you should know Andrea darling, that he blames himself for everything. And when he finally realises that it wasn't his fault... it's usually too late”, she commented and turned off the water, “It's just the way he is”.

Then she gave Andrea the bottle whose contents had no colour and said, “ Lift off the water a little so I can rub this deary”.

The younger girl did as requested. When Mrs Granzioni started rubbing the slippery lotion against the bruised skin though, Andrea winced from the pain, but the more her skin absorbed the strange liquid the number the abused spots became, until Andrea could no longer feel the previous stiffness and discomfort.

As they let the lotion do its tricks, she thought about the parts of his life and about the secrets S.H.I.E.L.D or Avengers Initiative, or whatever they called themselves now, had kept and continued to keep from the public. It was a thought that had began to worry her more and more, especially after the conversation she had had with him, after she had seen Lizzy' s neck at the club.

'' _Loki Laufeyson, usurper of the throne of Asgard and half brother to Thor Odinson, attacks the island of Manhattan with alien army_ '', '' _The alien God kills eighty people in just two days but is successfully caught by the Avengers'_ ', '' _Loki Laufeyson, believed to be dead, returns to rule Earth by force_ '', were just some of the headlines in countless newspapers of the time, all accusing, all assuming things about the man without having given him a chance to talk. Captain Fury had appeared on the news and had said that he was a murderer and a psychopath who killed because it was fun. Tony Stark, the billionaire, had practically screamed from the rooftops what a diva Loki was and how he wanted statues built with his name plastered on them. Everyone, even people walking down the street would accuse him of overthrowing his father not once, but twice. Some had gotten as far as suggesting that he had killed Odin the second time, while all his brother had revealed in the press, two years ago, was that their father had died in exile from old age. So how could people go ahead and assume things as if they had the right to do so? Was there something wrong with her own thought process? Or was there something wrong with the rest of the world?

As far as she knew, everyone jumped into their own conclusions without even bothering to ask what were the reasons behind his actions. No one spoke of his loss, his childhood, or the shocking truth of his heritage. For her, all these things that people never talked about or cared to ask might have been the exact life experiences that shaped Loki, the infamous God of Mischief. Why didn't anyone bother helping him to deal with the past properly so that he could be good in the future?

“What are you thinking about deary?”, Mrs Granzioni asked suddenly, snapping Andrea out of her disturbing thoughts.

“Just... him, I suppose”, she admitted, blushing a bit.

The older woman giggled and began to wash off the lotion from the bruises, as lightly as she could, so as to not cause Andrea any pain. Once she was done, she motioned for the girl to stand up.

When Andrea was safely out of the slippery tub, Mrs Granzioni wrapped her in towels, all of them smelling of Loki and carefully dabbed her skin. She put the girl's hair in a smaller towel and instructed her to wait in the bathroom, because it was warmer here than outside, until she came back with fresh clothes.

Andrea managed to dry her hair efficiently and noted with happiness that standing and lifting her arms were no longer an issue. Whatever those liquids had done to her, and she was sure that it was them that had taken the soreness away, she was grateful for it. At least now she would save herself from the embarrassment of having to ask for assistance to walk in places or to hold things.

Mrs Granzioni got back with the clothes and quickly handed her firstly a pair of deep emerald panties, framed with lace and matching brallette with no wire, just as she liked. _How the hell did he know I hate wires in bras?_ , she wondered curiously, but doubted that he actually knew. Must have been a random choice. And it was also her favourite colour. This type of deep, mysterious green. Was it his colour too? From what she had seen of his armour last night, his green was much more vibrant, but there was a possibility he liked other shades as well... _what the hell? Why am I thinking these stuff?_ , she cursed at herself. Her trails of thought were completely confusing and out of the ordinary tonight.

She put the panties on and the brallette followed suit and with widened eyes thought how the hell did he know her size. She turned around to inspect herself in the mirror and noted how perfectly the fabric covered her small breasts without causing her any discomfort and without being too tight or too sloppy. It was just perfect. Not even the brallettes she bought on her own were so comfortable, at least not to this extent. If she wanted to be honest, she was never into bras of any type and shape. She preferred to go without, but unless she wore oversized shirts and sweaters, that wasn't an option. With tighter shirts or dresses her nipples would peak out and she would always feel terribly exposed and open. So she usually had to force her firm tender breasts into that uncomfortable piece of clothing.

Moving on to the panties, she noted that they too were a perfect fit. _Have you taken my measurements or something Mister Mischief?_ , she thought jokingly. The lace was thick and the rest of the fabric, at the mound and centre, was silk and so... so soft that if Mrs Granzioni wasn't present she would start caressing her lady bits through it. The thought of it set her skin afire.

Just in time, the housekeeper handed her a beautiful black dress made out of silk as well. Lacy details were woven into the cleavage area, making it adorably enticing. It was sleeveless and thus it would perfectly show off her toned back and arms and its length, which ended about mid thigh, would create a great contrast with her skin. But she couldn't take it. Indeed, it was beautiful and it wasn't often that she turned down the feel of silk and under other circumstances she would grab it without hesitation, but... she wanted the roughness and the musk and the smell of old paper on her.

“Mrs Granzioni... it's perfect, really a beautiful dress, but...”, she paused for a bit, not knowing how to put it discreetly, until she realised that there was no mild way to ask something like this and so went head first, “ Do you think that I can wear something of his?”.

The housekeeper's eyes lit up almost in a knowing dirty way and Andrea rushed to add, “ I mean... I don't really know my surroundings and he... he... he's the only kind of familiar...”, but she trailed off, realising that she might as well scream at the older woman that she needed him on her, “ Do you think he' ll mind?”.

“Of course he will not!”, she nearly screamed, “ Come. Let me show you where Miss UK 2018 keeps her knits”, and with that she took the laughing girl by the hand and lead her into Loki's walk-in closet. Andrea would swear that if she knew Mrs Granzioni a bit better and for a longer period of time she would suggest that the old woman was secretly rooting for her and the dark God. _Could she be shipping us?,_ she thought with amusement.

Once they were inside and Mrs Granzioni had switched on the light, she opened a dark wooden drawer, revealing perfectly folded and neatly placed sweaters of various materials. Knitted, woollen, cashmere or just of thick synthetic fabric. As for the colour palette, they were mostly green and black with the occasional surprise of deep blue. Some sweaters were absolutely simple, but others had silver of golden accents, in the forms of buttons or intricate sleeve designs, yet they were not too fancy. The silver hardware, she guessed, was to show culture and attitude and the gold here and there emphasized... perhaps the fact that he was of Asgard. She had read countless fairy tales as a child which described Asgard as the Realm Eternal, full of treasures and gold. Golden streets, buildings, rooms. Gold woven even into the warriors' armour. Perhaps these little accents and intricacies on the sleeves served the purpose of remembering, but she hastily pushed those thoughts out of her mind. If she dwelt upon Loki's lost home, she would cry, even though she wasn't sure about how much he might miss it. He had never let anything on.

She sniffed and changed the subject while tracing the different fabrics with her fingertips, “ He certainly has an eye for fashion, right?”.

In response, Mrs Granzioni giggled and replied in a sort of hushed, secretive way, “Don't let him hear you say that. He' ll gloat for a week”.

They both laughed at the remark, though Andrea didn't completely support it as a belief. Loki didn't need to gloat. He would mock and tease for sure, but he had no need to appear superior, for he simply was. His whole aura screamed boss.

“Have a look through those, I'm sure you' ll find something”, the old woman said and then added happily, “ I'll go to the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. You must be starving!”. With that being said, she headed out of the closet, giving Andrea space and time to decide on what to wear.

There was this really beautiful blue-black sweater with silver buttons cascading the chest area, but she wasn't feeling particularly fancy at the moment. Instead, she felt under the weather and weak and thus, she went for the long, comfortable and black turtle neck sweater next to the blue. She took it from the drawer and put it on, passing her thumbs through the small openings at the edges of the sleeves. Turning to the mirror, a small smile found its way to her lips as she realised how well it fitted her. Again, she was forgetting the almost non existent difference in their heights and her original natural build.

The fabric hugged her curves perfectly and was only a bit loose on her chest area, since she was almost flat, and on her shoulders. Apart from those spots, she could say for a certainty that she had never worn anything more flattering and beautifully casual. There was something so empowering about the way the fabric around her neck bunched up, creating gentle layers and about the design of the sleeves. It felt like armour and it felt like him and it was right.

“Where are you?”, she whispered under her breath, as she played with the fabric on her stomach, resisting the urge to look down to her legs.

After a moment in front of the mirror, she left the closet and went to the kitchen, where the magnificent smell of chicken hang and made her mouth water.

She hadn't felt so welcome in a place in a long time and in the back of her mind, the thought of Loki's offer had started to really plant itself, both annoying her and reminding her that she could call this huge penthouse, ''home'', if she chose to. Maybe, in time, she could call him that as well.

 

 

… _meanwhile in Muspelheim ..._

 

 

The blue eyed boy crawled upon the scorched ground, knees aching badly and back split open from Loki's whip, his favourite one, the one with the spikes made out of the strongest metal on Asgard.

He took his time, following slowly the boy as he tried to get away, aimlessly and desperately.

A sinister laugh escaped his mouth at the sound of mewling cries for help coming from the ant beneath his boot. With one strike at the empty air, just beside the crawling body, he commented with the calmest tone he could master, “Where are you going little Sam? We are far from over with your punishment”.

Another strike, but this time it landed on the boy's bloodied back making him cry out for help once more.

“Help? Oh, no no, we can't have that”, Loki mocked disapprovingly and leaned forward to grab Sam's ankle. He started dragging him backwards, to where the other four unfortunate souls rested. The boy clutched at the dirt in the ground and kicked back, but to no avail. He screamed and pleaded, but it was merely encouragement for Loki to do his worst.

After throwing the boy on top of his equally scared, naked and tortured friends, he dropped the whip, making sure that it landed on the ground with a loud hiss, a sound that would haunt his victims' minds for decades.

Then, he produced his knives with his seidr, not the small ones though. Those were for fun and games. Instead, in his fingers he held the big ones, the ones whose edges were pointier and much sharper. The ones he once used to carve up toys for Thor and mother when he was little. Even as a youth it hadn't taken him long to figure out that the same weapons he used to create, could also be used to slice skin and take life with just one twist of the wrist or a throw.

With a half smile on his face, caused by the perversely happy memory, he paced casually in front of the five boys, his steps unpredictable and their lightness upon the ground, a warning. Suddenly he stopped in front of the one who had caused Andrea the biggest damage.

He squatted down, levelling himself with the trembling boy and began to talk quietly and smoothly, almost like a father to a misbehaving son, “ Tell me, Gregory, that is your name, am I correct?”, the boy nodded in sudden panic and Loki's smile grew wider, “ Hmm. Gregory, Gregory, Gregory. Tell me, was it you that held the knife against my beloved' s skin?”.

The boy mumbled negatively and began crawling backwards on his hands and knees, but Loki only snapped his fingers and the man was immediately restrained with heavy chains that sprang out of the burnt land like weeds.

As he struggled against his binds, Loki started to casually flip his knives in the air and catch them barely before they impaled themselves on the terrified boy's face.

“I will not tolerate lies, Gregory”, he chided, “ It would be advisable that you admit your fault now, that I am still calm. If you don't, the punishment I bestow upon you will be much... much worse”, he informed and watched amused as the boy started crying out his apology, but Loki was feeling more playful than that.

“I' m afraid an apology will simply not do, dear one. No, I want you to say it. Say...”, he paused to squat down close to the boy's face, “ ''yes Sir. I used a pocket knife to slice up your beloved' s beautiful thighs, because I was mindless and under the influence of drugs”, he finally mused and awaited his response while the muffled cries of the four boys behind him served as background music.

“Yes, Sssir... I used a pocket knife to... to... to slice up your... beloved' s thi- thighs... I was...”, he mumbled between sobs.

“Yes, do go on. I want to hear all of it”, Loki cooed maliciously.

“Ah... ah... I was mindless and on... on drugs”, the boy finished and Loki let out a dramatic drawn out sigh before starting to speak in a sad, almost regretful tone.

“Did you now? Oh, that was atrocious Gregory”, but then suddenly he cheered up and added mischievously, “ Well, you know what they say. An eye for an eye”.

And without further due, he started slicing up the man's thighs, drawing the same bloodied patterns he had seen carved upon Andrea's skin. He was careful and thorough and more often than not, he would mess up a line or two just for the sake of healing the abused skin and beginning all over again, while the body underneath him gushed out blood and produced violent spasms.

 

 

… _back in the penthouse ..._

 

 

Andrea was seated at the enormous dining table, practically devouring the chicken breast and peas that Mrs Granzioni had made.

“It's delicious... really... very nice”, she mumbled between bites as the housekeeper laughed.

“There is more on the grill if you want darling”.

“I wouldn't say no”, Andrea admitted, a little abashed, and downed her glass of orange juice.

Mrs Granzioni laughed again, but Andrea didn't mind it at all. She knew that she looked like the stray shipwrecked sailor that hadn't eaten for days and so she allowed the old woman to have her fun. Besides, her company was more than welcome and Andrea would hate to ruin it with being offended.

On an unguarded moment, she heard the housekeeper whisper, “ Oh mio dio, più bella”, and the young girl's attention was immediately caught.

“Lei è italiana, Signora Granzioni?”, she asked boldly as she set down fork and knife. She should have guessed by the name, but she just had to be sure.

Mrs Granzioni' s eyes widened then and a bright smile broke out on her face, “Sì, sono italiana. E tu sei grecha, no?”.

Andrea looked down at her lap trying to get her sentences right, “ Sì, sono grecha ma parlo l' italiano un po'”, but then she lost her nerve with the language and switched back to English, “ But, let's... let's stop with the Italian now or I'll embarrass myself. I had classes last year, but I don't think I remember much”.

Both women giggled in a shared companionable joy, before Andrea began eating again, set on emptying the plate and stop the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

“Oh, there is something special about your beauty darling”, the housekeeper said, making Andrea blush a little, “ You have a Mediterranean air about you. So unique”.

“Grazie tante”, the young woman replied, placing a hand where her heart rested.

“For what deary? I am only stating the truth. Loki had spoken of your beauty, but I had to see for myself. He wasn't lying”, she commented with a warm smile on her face.

Andrea almost chocked on her bite. Loki had spoken of her? Of... of her beauty? Beauty? What beauty? No matter. He had spoken of her? That made her think what other things he might have said, but now was not the time.

“Well, for everything actually”, she began, ignoring the older woman's later revelation, “ For feeding me, bathing me, for the clothes, the compliments... everything”.

“You don't have to thank me for anything. It was my pleasure to help you get on your feet again. And if you decide to stay, I will even help you brush up on your Italian”, she said pointing a finger in the air to emphasize her point. But Andrea's attention had turned elsewhere.

“If I decide to... so... you know about... the offer he made me?”, she asked reluctantly, finishing her plate quickly so that she could focus on the new uncomfortable topic.

“Of course I do. Loki tells me everything Andrea, or at least everything that he needs help with. And trust me, when it comes to feelings, he does need help”, she stated in an almost mocking tone.

The young woman scoffed at that, half confused and half disbelieving. Truth was, that she needed to talk to someone about the God of Mischief' s swirling moods and motives, but so far, the people that surrounded her would not understand. Family was out of the picture, international advisor – the hell she would talk to her-, and friends... well she didn't have any. Mrs Granzioni was her best chance at getting some solid counsel.

“I cannot figure him out”, she began courageously, “ I know it's only been a week but he... he... he says one thing and I think I understand and then he says something else and my whole picture of him falls apart”.

To her surprise, the housekeeper burst out laughing. That wasn't the reaction she had expected, but it was soon justified.

Between huffs and giggles, Mrs Granzioni said, “ It's so funny... how... how he said the same thing... about you darling”.

At the sound of that, Andrea's lips parted and she leaned back on her chair not knowing for sure what she felt.

“Seriously?”, she murmured confusingly and looked up, only to find that the woman's eyes had acquired a sort of sorrowful expression.

“Yes he did”, she said, her voice a bit distant, like she was not really here, “ And I will tell you exactly what I told him that Thursday morning, after I found him sitting in bed...”, and she indicated towards it, “... exhausted from having wrecked this place, because he couldn't help you”.

Andrea's eyes went wide at the revelation. Thursday morning... that must have been after the night she gave him the strap. She knew that he was aware of her distress, he had made it evident to her that he had heard Lizzy' s words – and actually, had punished her for them -, and that he had watched her crumbling down to pieces when she danced. Yet she had never imagined that he would ruin this beautiful area, she was sitting in right now, because he... had no idea how else to help. How to help? Why would he feel like that? It was only their third day, after all... _My mother once told me that if a woman gives you a piece of herself you should keep it and cherish it... giving it to you must have costed her something_...

She wanted to break out in tears as some pieces of the puzzle, whether they had to do with words or actions, locked together and started to make sense. Andrea couldn't have guessed that what she needed all along was the statement of an outsider to figure this out.

Mrs Granzioni reached out and squeezed her hand, pulling her out of her thoughts, “ People are not for you to figure out. It is a process that takes time and patience and a week is hardly enough time for the both of you to know everything there is to know about each other”.

“But, how can I trust him if I don't know him?”.

“Trust doesn't come from knowledge. It comes from faith. And faith comes with time”.

Andrea lowered her head in understanding and considered how true the woman's words were. There was no denying the wisdom of the elders.

“I told him that... if he cared about you, even just a tiny bit, he should stop drinking and sleeping around and doing absolutely nothing with his life. And to my surprise, he listened. Sort of”, the housekeeper continued her retelling with her eyes fixed on Andrea's, “ I told him to be himself with you, even if I knew of the chaos that that would bring”. Both women gave a sad laugh at that remark, but soon the younger realised that she couldn't keep her sorrow inside any longer.

A tear slipped from her eye and she quickly brushed it away with her sleeve. It was a tempting idea, to release all the built up tension of the past week. It felt like a weight on her chest, like a ball and chain around her ankle that she had to drag wherever she went. Pressure, angst. All created by the simple realisation that Loki's actions, his words, his gestures meant more than she had originally understood. And all this time, she had suspected his motives, just a tad, before realising that they were harmless all along.

Sniffing a couple of times to compose herself, she asked, “ Mrs Granzioni, I understand all that, even though I am still so confused with... with his ways but...”, she paused for a second acknowledging how pathetic her next words would sound, but she couldn't stop now, “ … feelings? Feelings for... for me? From someone like him? He is a... a figure straight out of Mythology books and I am... nobody. I' m just Andrea, kicked out of home, studying English at University and... a showgirl that has to dance half naked to survive”, she concluded, her words tinged with anger and hurt. Suddenly she felt so unsure of herself, especially since she had mentioned her home state. She hadn't done that in awhile.

“So what?”, was all the housekeeper replied, “My darling girl why do you have to plant problems everywhere?”, she added, though not in a scolding or mocking tone.

“I don't understand what you mean”, Andrea retorted, not seeing the woman's point.

Mrs Granzioni only smiled, “ Is he not a man under the label of God? Does he not have the right to feel?”, she asked, expecting Andrea to indulge her with an answer.

Once the girl understood that the question wasn't rhetorical, she said, “ Yeah, I guess he is and... he has every right”.

“Are you not a woman under the label of human? Do you not have the right to feel?”, she adjusted the questions, directing them to her now.

“I am, but... is it even possible? To feel like this towards him. I mean, am I even allowed?”, she doubted and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table.

The housekeeper shook her head in amused disbelief, before replying with honesty that stung, “ Is he not alone, like you? Is he not cut off from everything he considered home? Is he not broken from life? Does he not think himself unloved and untouchable?”, _like me?, A_ ndrea filled in her mind and lowered her head to hide the tears that spilled from her eyes. She didn't know why it was so hard to hear all these things aloud, since she knew all along in her heart that she fit the description.

Suddenly she felt arms around her, elderly and frail. Andrea responded immediately to the hug by wrapping her own around Mrs Granzioni' s middle, staining her red cardigan with tears. The woman didn't seem to mind it though and simply smoothed the girl's hair away from her face andspoke in a motherly tone, “ I am not telling you all these to make you cry. I am telling you because I want you to understand that the obstacles you put between yourself and him, are in fact non existent. He did the same thing a few days ago and I scolded him for it. He listened. He came to you, as he is, no matter how difficult and no matter how he thought he would scare you. Did he? Did he scare you? I don't think so. If he had, you wouldn't ask me twice where he is, would you now? He has made a step forward, darling. And now he expects you to do the same”, she advised and kissed Andrea's head affectionately.

After a couple of minutes they disentangled from each other and Andrea nodded in understanding, having absorbed the woman's words and taken them to heart. She wiped away her tears and tried to summon back her usual mask of strength and control.

Then the housekeeper extended a hand towards her and she took it without questioning.

“Let's get you to bed now. You need to rest and think, I know”, and thus escorted her to the bedroom area.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”, Andrea asked as she laid on the soft mattress, adjusting a pillow under her head and taking another in her hands to clutch at, for the rest of the night.

“Perhaps I' ll drop by and cook. If Loki deems it necessary. I usually come three times a week”, she informed and Andrea's heart sank. She wasn't sure if she could deal with Loki all by her own, although she knew that that was what she was supposed to do.

She got under the covers, careful not to stretch the skin on her legs and attempted to close her eyes when suddenly a question popped in her mind.

“Mrs Granzioni?”, she exclaimed, making the woman stop dead in her tracks.

“Yes darling?”.

Andrea bit her lip and gazed at the empty space beside her on the bed.

“Will he be here when I wake up?”.

Mrs Granzioni's eyes became warm and her lips twitched in an understanding smile, “ Of course he will be. And if he is not, you and I will find a way to go to wherever the hell he is and drag him home by his princely cape”.

Andrea burst out laughing at the woman's humour and nerve to insult Loki so directly and went to sleep a little lighter in the head and heart.

 

 

… _about ten minutes later ..._

 

 

Loki stepped through the portal, as quietly as possible, and was met with a very much awake Mrs Granzioni shushing him anyway and warning him with semaphore movements that he would slit his throat if he made so much as a noise. Loki couldn't force back a mocking grin at her supposed threats on his life.

“She just fell asleep”, she informed, getting up from her chair carefully, grinning as well.

He only nodded and turned his back to the woman in order to close the portal. He muttered the spell under his breath and immediately the opening in time and space was closed shut. Sighing in relief he took a couple of steps back and headed towards the bed to check on Andrea.

She was peacefully slumbering, laying on her side with her lips slightly parted and her brows furrowed, as if in deep thought. _Restless even in your sleep little dancer_ , he noted. In her chest she clutched the second pillow of the bed, fingers splayed on the surface and nose buried on its side, inhaling and exhaling steadily. His eyes travelled down her figure and that's when he noticed that she wasn't wearing what he had made for her.

He turned to Mrs Granzioni and asked in a hushed tone, though heavily injected with concern and doubt, “ Did she not like the dress?”.

The housekeeper huffed amusingly before answering in the same silent tone, “ Oh, she did. She just preferred to wear something of yours. If I am quoting her correctly, she said she wanted ''something familiar''”. The look she gave him after she had finished talking could kill and the intentionally raised eye brows only enhanced her hostile mood.

Loki's eyes widened at the housekeeper's response. His lips parted in an attempt to say something, but he couldn't find the proper words. So instead, he cleared his throat and changed the subject, keeping all expression away from his face.

“You have my thanks for taking care of her”, he said sternly, but still quietly.

“It was my pleasure. Is there anything else I can do before I go? Or before you decide to disappear again to feed your ego?”, she threw at him calmly.

“There is actually”, he said with the same calm, taking advantage of the opportunity while completely ignoring her remark.

Mrs Granzioni faked a shocked expression and raised her eye brows in silent expectation, but not really.

“Could you possibly drop by her University's secretary office and say that she will not attend for a couple of days? Tell them that she came down with something, give them your contact details, anything to assure them of her well being. Just do not mention me. You're a lovely old lady. I'm sure they will not suspect a thing”, he asked, mindful of adding his own snide remark in his words.

Mrs Granzioni nodded in a haste and added, “ Will do. I will tell them I am a friendly neighbour and that she is under my care until she gets better. Don't worry about it”.

She tapped his chest reassuringly and gave him another one of those poison dripping smiles of hers. After that, she moved away from him to put on her coat and get her bag.

Loki escorted her to the front door and thanked her again for her help, but before he had the chance to bid her goodnight, the old woman turned around and slapped his shoulder, hard.

“Do not thank me. Do... not... thank... me”, she said punctuating, every word with a slap, “ Don't you ever leave her again. You hear me? She needed you today, she asked for you, she talked about you and you... you were not here. Don't do it again Loki, alright?”, she concluded, finally having gotten her anger out of her.

Loki took both her words and slaps with patience and humility, because she was terribly right. He had gone away to feed his ego, like she had suggested previously. He had left Andrea for his own selfish reasons, something he had come to realise as he was beating up her assailants. His anger had dissipated with every lash of his whip and every cut of his knife, but he simply wouldn't stop. At the end of it all, he had worn himself out so much that he had to sit on the ground to catch his breath, no matter how humiliating that would be for a God. And that's when the guilt had come. Through the exhaustion of the physical torture he had inflicted, it dawned on him that he was punishing people he could have dealt with a lot quicker, instead of healing that precious woman who he had left behind. His little flower awaited help and guidance on his bed and he was half way across the Nine Realms, now Eight, tormenting boys because he liked the feeling.

As if on cue, Mrs Granzioni asked, “ Are you okay now? Whatever you did... did it help you? Are you satisfied?”.

He clenched his fists experimentally, noting that they hurt a bit from his previous activities and answered truthfully, “ Satisfaction is not in my nature”.

“It will be. Soon”, she simply said and started descending the stairs to the building's exit, leaving him confused at the doorstep.

He lowered his head and closed the door quietly and locked before walking to the bathroom, making his armour dissolve in the process and replacing it with casual clothes. He splashed some water on his face, both to clean the smudge of blood on his cheek and will himself to stay awake. He thoroughly scrubbed his knuckles as well, as there was some blood there too and smoothed his hair back with his fingers. While looking at the mirror, he caught a glimpse of something green and black on the tiled floor.

It was his shirt and Andrea's undergarment from last night. He made the little black thing disappear from the face of the earth, as it only served the purpose of reminding him what she had gone through, but allowed the shirt to stay in his line of sight for a bit longer.

He took it in his hands and brought it to his face, slowly inhaling the scent, keeping it inside him as long as he could, before forcing it back out. Even though the green linen cloth was his, it smelled like her now. A mixture of sweat, tears and sleepiness with a whiff of perfume. He breathed it in again, closing his eyes and imagining how she would smell if he rubbed the tip of his nose between the valley of her breasts, or in the inside of her elbow or the backs of her knees.

He decided to keep that shirt. He tucked it safely away in the back of a drawer in his closet, before stepping out into the bedroom area, where she lay peacefully, currently in the land of fairy tales and dreams.

He magicked an arm chair out of nowhere and placed it by the bed. He sat quietly, hoping that she wouldn't be disturbed by the slight rustling of fabric or by the screech of the wooden floor, and got comfortable.

If he could have, he would have slept, but memorising her sleeping features was much more interesting. Besides, what if come tomorrow, he never got the chance again?

 

 


	10. healer and avenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Andrea spend the afternoon together solving some identity issues and sexually frustrating each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Today I have a very important message for all of you so please hear me out before you bury your noses in the chapter. Tonight I am going to watch Infinity War and I am sure that each and every single one of us that loves Loki to bits is worried about his fate, his life, his destiny. In a few hours my agony will end because I will have found out what happens after all, but, the thing is that I am not going to make any spoilers whatsoever and I would appreciate if I didn't see any in the comments section here, because it will truly not be fair for the people who haven't seen it yet. Now, I know that the fear and dread is real, trust me, my heart beats a little faster today, but I want you to know that whatever happens in this film, whatever happens to our favourite character in this film is not final. Because if we can't protect a character, you can be damn sure we' ll avenge him. Through our fanfiction, ( did you see what I did there? I sort of, yeah, Tony's words from Avengers, I hope I seem cooler now, lol).  
> As far as this chapter is concerned...  
> 1) Loki's healing seidr and how it feels/works, as well as his supposed healing salves, are all figments of my imagination. I didn't really do any research on it or anything. Oh, perhaps something you didn't know is that seidr is a type of light magic that is mostly used by the Vanir, since they are known to be magicians and healers. According to the myths I know since childhood, after the Vanir-Aesir war ended, Freya and her brother Freyr were taken to Asgard as royal hostages and Freya taught Odin how to use seidr and Odin taught Frigga and as the Marvel Universe has somewhat confirmed, Frigga taught Loki. Now in this chapter I mention that Eir ( goddess of healing, the greatest healer in Asgard), taught Loki as well, but that is just fictional, it's not based in any myth. I just wanted to make things a bit more mythical and poetic.  
> 2) warnings for this chapter : mentions of Andrea's almost rape experience, graphic descriptions of violence/torture, sexy fluff ( prepare to set the fan next to you, because it's getting hot, at least it did for me), descriptions of injuries and loads of sexual tension and that's about it, I believe. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, I appreciate all of them! And like I said, do not worry about Infinity War okay? Stay calm, love yourselves and stay away from spoilers, because they do ruin everybody's cinematic experience, in my opinion. Bye, bye.

Andrea's head jerked up, the panic and dread from her nightmare rousing her abruptly and mercilessly. She took deep breaths in order to control her hammering heartbeat. As always, after those bad dreams came oblivion, a thing she was grateful for, because at least what tormented her when she was asleep did not disturb her while she was awake.

She refused to go back to sleep, even though she felt tired still. Instead she turned her eyes towards the window and allowed the blinding light to purge the sleepiness from her face while she hesitantly traced her fingertips over the empty space beside her.

He wasn't here. He hadn't come home. Home? _Have we graduated to calling it home now?_ , a voice inside her head scolded. The reasonable voice, probably. Thoughts like these tortured her a lot, and no matter how much she tried to push them away, they simply wouldn't go. And while her heart screamed yes, that reasonable little devil on her left shoulder kept twisting her ear, listing all the things that could go wrong if her answer to the God of Mischief was positive.

Loki watched with curious eyes as she sat up on the bed, hand extended by her side and face turned towards the window, the moody light only adding to her already pale skin and defining the tiredness under her eyes. He wasn't sure about what he read in her mind as she peered down at the clean white sheets. Could it be worry, loneliness, simple exhaustion? Or perhaps the strange feeling of being in a stranger's bed with no inkling as to the particular stranger' s whereabouts?

Briefly he remembered Mrs Granzioni' s words from the previous night. The little dancer had asked for him. At the thought of that, something twisted and churned in his stomach. Perhaps due to pride, because she wanted him here, or due to guilt, because he wasn't where he should have been.

“ On your right”, he exclaimed.

She jumped a bit on the spot, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut, her hand coming up to her chest out of instinct. Her breath caught in her throat and her shoulders haunched, as if on defence. But to Loki, something didn't add up.

For that split second of surprise, he would have expected her to just be startled, yet somehow, he read something in her body language, specifically in the way she haunched her shoulders that suggested fear. He reminded himself again of the power of muscle memory. Back in the club, when he had extended his hand to touch her she had flinched away from him and she had later admitted having being hit by her manager. Was there a possibility that she reacted to certain tones of voice in certain ways? Of course he wasn't sure, so he would leave it for later investigation. For now, he would continue to play ignorant and see if it would happen again.

Deciding instantly to lighten the mood and drag her out of her panic state, he said, feigning superiority, “ I see you couldn't resist my divine taste in clothing. It is understandable”, and then continued with a dirty smirk on his face, “ It suits you little one. I think I' m going to be dressing you in my clothes more often”.

She blushed hard at his words and looked down to her lap, wishing she could hold back the words that were about to escape her mouth. But unfortunately, some invisible power made them slip out of her tongue in a hoarse, sleepy voice, “ It smelled like you”.

It was a spontaneous thought that was too true not to utter. Of course she could have chosen to lie to him. She could have told him that she needed something warmer because it was cold. But where would that lead? Lying was not in her nature, except in extreme situations where no other alternative presented itself. Besides, if she had chosen to lie, she wouldn't have been gifted with that stupid stunned expression on his face that brought a little smile on her own.

For a minute there was only silence between them, until she chose to break it. Her rising temperature and flaming cheeks and the intensity of his gaze were enough for her to panic. She cleared her throat and dragged the blanket upwards to cover more of her body, gathering her knees closer to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, suddenly too aware that her legs were bare and the panties he had magicked into existence for her, too enticing.

Then, as if by fate's intervention she remembered the apology she wanted to make about her delirious behaviour the other night.

Thus, with her head filled with shameful pictures of her screaming and kicking at him, she stuttered timidly, “ I want to... apologize for my... my acting the way I did. I didn't mean to... I just... I...”, and then admitted since she couldn't find any other words, “You didn't deserve that”.

Loki only shook his head and got up from the chair to sit on the bed beside her, facing her sideways. He was instantly grateful that Andrea didn't flinch or back away, just stared and waited for him to speak, eyes locked on his face and arms protectively around her knees.

“ No apologies necessary. It was the adrenaline doing this to you. You were not yourself”, and then on a lighter tone, “ Besides, helping you calm down, helped me as well. Sort of”, and winked.

She took reluctant shy glimpses at him noticing how worn out he looked. His lips were pale and parched, as if he hadn't drank or eaten anything for days and his cheeks were hollow, more than usual. His usually intense eyes seemed lethargic, but hid a great deal of emotion which she could not begin to decipher. Whatever he had done to her classmates must have drained him. She wondered if he had slept at all since he got back, but after taking a look at the armchair beside the bed she noted that it didn't look comfortable enough to sleep on.

“But is wasn't enough”, she stated, her voice not louder than a throaty whisper.

Loki smirked and let out a drawn out huff, before admitting the truth of her words, “ Of course not. I found you half naked on an alley with four bastards molesting you. How could it be enough?”.

Andrea was a little taken aback by his rawness but her mind took turns as fast as lightning, even though she had just basically woken up. Going back to Mrs Granzioni' s words, when they were in the bathroom, she somehow came to the conclusion that violence had been his solution to keep himself under control, before coming back to the penthouse. Perhaps holding and saying sweet things to her had made him at least a tad calmer, but she knew what anger meant. Down to her bone and marrow. He needed something physical. Something to waste the toxic energy on. Some people, as far as she knew, sought release in punching things, sex, pills, but something told her that Loki's vice would be a little more perversive.

In a moment of bravery, she risked it and asked with as much confidence as she could master, “ What did you do to them?”.

She watched as his whole body stiffened and the mask of control he had let slip just moments ago, returned in earnest, “ It's best that you don't know”.

He made to stand up, but Andrea didn't let him. She unwrapped one hand from around her knees and touched his forearm pleadingly.

“No, don't … don't go”, both words and actions made him stop and she felt a bit proud of having some kind of effect on him, even if it was this mild.

He sat back down, levelling himself with her once again and watching with curiosity the warm smile on her face. He took the hand that was resting on his arm and brought it to his lips before setting it back on her knee, as he couldn't bear her touching him so sweetly, while all the atrocious things he did passed through his mind like a violent blizzard.

Andrea decided that his extensive silence meant that he wouldn't talk, so she made her heart steal and started asking questions, hoping to coax the answers out of him, “ Did you kill them?”.

His eyes shot up to meet hers and his brows furrowed in surprise, both from the coldness of her tone and the blank expression on her face. He wasn't offended at all that that was her first idea. It was usual for people to believe that he got rid of things or people he didn't like, so it no longer bothered him. What did upset him though, was her calmness about it.

“No”, he said, boring his eyes into her in search of any kind of sentiment, for right now, she expressed none and that somehow made his heart grow a little colder.

“But... you did something to them... didn't you?”, she asked immediately, her eyes glimmering with something like anticipation.

“You sound almost hopeful”, he stated giving her a once over, trying to decipher her behaviour. But before he could jump into his own conclusions, her answer came, raw and honest.

“I am”.

He would lie if he said that he wasn't taken aback by those two words and thus he concentrated on her thoughts, scanning her brain for anything close to a coherent sentence that would explain what he could only describe as, cruelty. Beautiful, righteous and enticing cruelty. But he soon realised that she wasn't thinking about anything. She was only feeling. Her quickened breaths suggested anxiety. The rapid pulse of her heart could mean anticipation and the tired, yet wide awake eyes that stared at him glimmered with expectation.

For a second he considered to dismiss her inquiries and simply state that whatever he did was now over. He would then try to convince her that he felt no guilt or remorse for his actions and that he would have gladly done it again. He would say all this in a stern voice so that she would be discouraged or even scared of asking anything else and the subject would end at that. It was a good solution, the wise path, in case he was wrong about her being overly excited to know about his torturing methods. What if she was trying to cat fish him? What if she was faking it in order to get to him? Could he really risk his, so far, good profile just to indulge her?

But on the other hand, he was desperate to find out what would happen if he let the words slip out of his mouth. Deep down, he wanted to tell her. He wanted to describe his achievements with as many adjectives as possible, only for the sake of seeing the shock in her eyes and feel the disgust coursing through her body towards him. If he told her, she would leave. She would get scared and leave and every chance he might have had with her would crumble down to pieces. Could he really be so mean so as to burden her with such knowledge?

This was a challenge for both of them. The truth could set him free and possibly her as well, if he read the signs correctly. But it could also turn her away from him. A lie could separate them in the blink of an eye, because she would suspect it, but there was a possibility that she wouldn't and that instead of running away, she would praise him for being the better person and staying away from violence. But lying and the maintenance of lies was not her way. She looked at him too rawly and too openly to expect anything but the truth.

He insisted on staring deep into her wide forests, because he wanted her to see the true him. He needed to show her that the monster everyone talked about, was indeed there, inside him and no matter his charm and charisma, he would, at the end of the day, remain the same man.

“ I took them, all five of them, to Muspelheim, the former kingdom of demons. I stripped them naked, split their backs open, played with their thoughts and then I let them ran around, allowing the liberating idea of freedom to slip into their minds only to take it away seconds later. When I made sure that there was no hope of escape left in their pitiful souls, I concentrated on the one who sliced you open like a piece of meat and inflicted upon him the exact same damages, sometimes messing the patterns so that I could start all over again, because it pleased me to listen as he struggled and begged me to stop. And yet, I was not sated. Thus, I used my magic to make their blood boil within their veins so much so that it started pouring out of every hole in their miserable bodies”, he finished as abruptly as he had began, but he was no longer able to meet her eyes and so turned them to his lap, a few strands of hair falling on his face. His body went stiff and cold and all he could do was continue, “ After all that, I erased every memory they had of you and of what they did to. I thought it would be useful. We do not want them going around the University saying where they saw you work, now do we?”, he joked bitterly, but there was no reaction from her, “ I did a spell according to which they will be going through everything I did to them each time they close their eyes, though they will never see my face. It's permanent. Irreversible. Eternal, so that they will never find peace again”, he then found the courage to look at her and conclude, “That is my punishment”.

So far, she had been strangely mute and that sent alarms going off in his head that he had shocked her to such extent that she was unable to respond. His expression softened and his eye brows turned up in acknowledgement. Her silence only confirmed his suspicions from before. He was only expecting her to bolt off the bed and out the door. And he would let her go, because he knew that the information he had burdened her with was too hard to swallow.

“Why are you looking at me as if you're expecting judgement?”, she said quietly. In fact, she whispered it and so he had to lean forward, eye brows shooting up in surprise, to make sure that he had heard correctly.

A sinister chuckle escaped his lips, a side effect of his puzzlement, “ I'm sorry, should I not?”.

“I don't have the right to judge other people, only myself”, Andrea replied immediately, but then paused, half smiling at him, as a means of buying some time in order to form a much lengthier response. _How do I make you see?_ , she wondered and briefly remembered his reaction back at the club, after she had seen Lizzy. This, right now, was the same case, the same story repeating itself.

 _This is who he is_ , she thought with a bit of a sick pride lurking at the dark corners of her mind. Raw, vengeful, manipulative, sarcastic and playful in the most perversive meaning of the word. All these were true and she was by now expecting them to shine through the general mask of control he wore. What she had not expected was the way these traits counteracted with hers.

 _This is who I am_ , she admitted in a sort of defeated melancholy. She was cruel when she had to be. Romantic about the most absurd of things. Realistic even when there was enough freedom to dream. Temperamental for no reason at all and more twisted than he could imagine.

As he described everything he did, every harm he inflicted, she knew that she should have been scared. Maybe even terrorized, considering the vivid images her mind conjured up of bloodied skin and bone and bare fear. She should have cried and yelled at him. A normal person, perhaps who was in their right mind, would have ran for the door, shouting to the passer bys to call the police, the Feds, the Avengers even, anyone who could restrain him and put him behind bars. But instead of all that, she felt ecstatic. His words were like pouring a candle's residue on naked skin, and oh how she loved the burn. The arousal that wetted her folds was unmistakable and felt dirty in the best way possible. Like it or not, this was her reaction.

Fear, cries, screams and distress were unnecessary and she had to find a discreet way of explaining that. It was true that her own feelings felt twisted and atrocious. But she could neither deny them nor lock them away. The idea of him avenging her and punishing those who had done her wrong was the greatest confirmation that whatever came her way, she didn't have to fight it alone, because he would be by her side, protecting her like an unleashed wolf. If torture and pain was his way of proving that he cared for her then she would have it, without putting any resistance or expressing distaste.

With the initial excitement beginning to subside now, rationality came back. She was thankful for it, because it meant that she could talk with actual words instead of erotic growls.

Coyness and mild intimidation, the two contrasting characteristics that somehow always walked hand in hand inside her, returned and when she spoke her voice was iron, yet quiet, “ What? If you think I'm a saint, please, thing again”. This was her introduction. Her way of getting to the point as accurately as possible.

“ I... I cannot bring myself to reprimand you, scold you for what you did when I know that if I was not immobilized in this bed, I would have gone after them myself. But...”, she paused for a moment, not sure how to express her next thoughts, “... you don't know how difficult it is for women to... to find justice when... things like that happen to them. Filing a report at the police station... trying to go up against five very well-bred, so to speak, and very rich individuals from very well-bred and very rich families would have been more traumatic than what they... what they would have almost done to me if you hadn't showed up”, and then she lifted her arms in an attempt to accompany her words with some emphasis. She always did that when she found difficulty in explaining things, “ Knowing that I didn't have to go through all that because you took the burden of, how do I say this, doing me justice, upon yourself... makes me grateful, not judgemental. You chose torture and that's okay. As long as it doesn't get you in trouble with the law, it's fine by me, because they deserved what they got and I... I wouldn't ask you to act any other way. I am not... I don't want to change you, so... please stop thinking that I do?”.

Loki stared at her for a moment, scanning for faults in her body language that would betray lies. But as usual, he found none. Speechless and dumbfounded, as he was, he considered that this was why she appeared so vulnerable and coy. She was too honest for this world. And he... he was too suspicious of its people. His mother's words were true after all. Words uttered in a cell, below the palace grounds, amongst all the other criminals and scum. _Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself..._

He wanted to ask if she meant it. He wanted to hear from the little dancer's lips that she indeed felt no disgust towards him after hearing his monstrosities. He needed confirmation. But instead, he buried all that. He buried the urge to plead her for forgiveness, even though she didn't it was not necessary, as well as the urge to crawl on her lap and allow her to soothe him, as Frigga had always done when he was little and had been chastised for misbehaving, usually by Odin. For the time being, he would drown his private needs and concentrate on her, an activity that was so unusual for him, but surprisingly liberating.

“ Is this your way of thanking me?”, he asked, his tone tinted with both surprise and playfulness. It was a ''change the subject'' question aimed at lightening the mood and breaking the heavy atmosphere around them.

Andrea tucked her hair behind her ears, a little abashed with his straight forwardness, but thankful that he had understood her point.

“I guess you could say that”, she said, resting her knuckles against her cheek to cool it off.

He raised his eye brows and bowed his head in an almost comical manner, “ You're very welcome”, and then eyed her with a smirk on his face, “...you little bloodthirsty hyena”.

She giggled at his remark and buried her face in the limited space between her knees and chest for a split second, before answering, quiet as a cat's meowing, “ I prefer ''little dancer'' ”.

With a stupid smile and a heart about to explode in his chest, Loki gave her a once over, “ Do you now?”.

She nodded positively with bright, honest eyes, the proximity of his body making her stomach flatter and her cheeks burn anew.

He hummed mysteriously and then without a warning, his mood changed to one of seriousness and professionalism, accompanied by an enigmatic playfulness that caught her by surprise. She was reaching the conclusion that he was the definition of ''mood swings''.

“ Get rid of that blanket. I have to check on your wounds”, he ordered softly, grinning like a wolf who was about to get what he wanted, while having no resistance from the prey's part.

He got up and left her for a bit to retrieve his healing ointments, all containing herbs and substances from other worlds, completely capable of restoring his beloved' s legs to their former softness.

Now that Andrea got a minute to herself, she breathed deeply and tried to relax. She knew that this was a part for her own good. _He is kind and generous enough to help you, you idiot, be mature about it_ , she kept scolding herself, although it was so difficult when her insecurities were rushing through her mind all at once, like deadly blizzards.

Going back to her first night here, she remembered that she had woken up with only her panties and a shirt he had dressed her with and so she reached the horrible conclusion that he had seen her naked... again. At least the first time, at the club, she was able to cover herself, well, parts of herself and he had protected her too with his own clothed body. But that night, that dreadful night, when he had found her on the alley unconscious... He had said she had been half naked, but how did he mean it? How stripped had she been exactly? No matter, he had obviously done that as soon as he had brought her here. It had been mandatory for his tending to her, and although uncomfortable, she felt grateful for getting out of the surely torn clothes he had found her in. But she couldn't shake the shameful images of him laying eyes upon her small breasts off her mind. The thoughts made her shudder, as she strongly believed that they were the most unattractive part on her body, because, even if she was a grown woman, those womanly parts insisted on remaining small, but thankfully firm. Perhaps she should be grateful for having being unconscious during Loki's first tending, because she had really saved herself from the humiliation or the potential indifference in his face. She couldn't decide which was best. Him finding her attractive while taking care of her cuts or him showing absolutely no interest? _What the hell, Andrea, he was probably too panicked from you gushing out blood and breathing faintly, your tits were the least of his concerns!_ , she screamed inwardly.

The muffling of clothes and the clicking of glass bottles brought her back to reality and bitterly reminded her that she had to throw her covers and stand up. Or sit down. Or lay on the bed. Damn it, he hadn't told her how he wanted her to position herself. Position herself? Perfect. That sounded so dirty in her mind that it got her distracted once again. _Relax god damn it_ , she kept shouting in her head, her eyes stuck on a random spot on the bed, thumb and forefinger anxiously playing with her bottom lip. _Grow up. You can do this. Hell, you jumped on him like a little crying koala the other night. This is nothing._

“Still there?”, a voice boomed making her jump slightly on the spot.

She gazed upwards, surely looking like a disoriented kitten, where a broad smile awaited her. How she loved it when he smiled. Whether it was a genuine stretch of his lips, a grin or a smirk, she liked to see it. That smile now wasn't plastered on his face to flatter or to serve a purpose. It simply rested there, above his sharp jaw as a warm invitation.

He set the two bottles on the night stand and then knelt to the floor, beside the bed, expecting her to follow his instruction. He raised his eye brows almost in a pleading way and extended his hand towards her, palm upwards, like he had always done whenever she needed an encouraging push. He didn't rush, coax or force her moves. He had no need to, because he knew that sooner or later she would obey for her own good.

She felt a little ashamed of making him wait so much for her stupid body to comply and so, in a moment of bravery, she pushed the furry blanket aside, revealing her bare legs, which were instantly washed by the bright afternoon light coming from the window. On first inspection, her condition looked horrible and upon realising it, she felt like a cold hand had just grabbed her heart and was squeezing it tightly until it would stop beating within her chest.

Until this moment she had avoided looking at her legs in order to keep herself calm and controlled. And besides, Mrs Granzioni, who had obviously seeing the damage, had assured her that Loki would magic everything away. But what she was staring at right now, was so terrifying that she actually wanted to cry.

Small cuts adorned the insides of her thighs, some red and irritated and some others pinker, but still angry looking. The ghastlier of them all though was situated on the outer thigh. That one had probably been caused after she had seen the knife for the first time and had been too scared to ran away and so that boy, whose name was unknown to her, had taken the chance to check its sharpness on her delicate skin. And here lay the result. A large, deep and ugly split, freshly stitched, but still reddened and dangerous. What would have happened if during her delirious episode she had opened at least one of those expertly woven stitches? She was too afraid to think about it.

Loki saw the expression on her face and sensed mild panic rising within her chest and thus he rushed to assure her, “ Little one...”, he began, and she turned her scared eyes towards him, “ … I promise they will be gone by tomorrow morning”.

She nodded decisively, putting all her trust in his words, even though she found it doubtful that he would be able to make such damage disappear overnight. Looking over his face for further confirmation, she found determination and decisiveness lurking at the serious crease between his brows and in his eyes, through their tiredness. She could trust that.

Tentatively slipping her fingers in his palm and placing her free hand on the mattress beside her, she pushed herself a bit forward. His own fingers curled around hers in a gentle grip to give her strength and much needed balance. After several grunts and muffled noises, she managed to slip her legs off the bed and sit on it, as comfortably as possible. She noted that the mattress was quite plush and thick and the bed's skeleton was high off the ground, but her feet touched the floor quite wholesomely, due to her height.

Loki adjusted his position too, to give her more space, but as soon as she settled, he crawled back to her, until her knees almost touched his belly. Through all this, he never let go of her hand, a gesture that made Andrea feel at ease.

And yet, it would be a lie to assume that she didn't feel uncomfortable with her semi spread legs right under his nose. The position was too intimate and although she knew that her main focus should be to allow him to do his work and get well altogether, she could not imagine how a position like this could serve only medicinal purposes. And little did the young woman know, Loki was going to make this situation even more difficult for her.

“Spread your thighs”, he instructed in his sultry, yet demanding tone as he let go of her hand to turn to his bottles on the night stand.

Andrea's eyes became completely round circles. In a different context, a doctor would have asked her to do that as well, but it wouldn't be the same. Surely, her mind would have wondered to inappropriate places in a humorous and playful manner. But this was Loki, asking her to spread her legs in front of him in a lewd and casual way, as if it was something she always did around him and so would have no problem doing it one more time. It made her stomach flip in horrible anticipation and her mind didn't just travel to dirty places. It stayed there and began constructing fantasies of its own. Fantasies she hoped didn't show on her face.

As she spread herself just a tad wider, cool air brushed against her sex, making her realise in horror how wet she already was, just by the thought of him touching her, so close to her most intimate spots, indulging all her senses except the one that brought the greatest pleasure. And the thought of him seeing, or smelling that wetness, soaking and staining her lovely lacy panties, which he had so skilfully crafted for her, made the air in her lungs insufficient. If he started sniffing her, she could swear she would faint from the embarrassment.

Desperately trying to find something else to focus on, she decided to turn her gaze towards what he was doing with the bottles. She noticed that he had opened them already and was chanting something, in a language very foreign and strange. She resisted the urge to ask him what he had said, as she was almost too certain that it was some kind of healing spell, enchantment or something of the sort anyway.

He dipped a finger into the contents of the first bottle and when he withdrew it, Andrea saw that it was covered with a substance that resembled black mud. He took more of it from the bottle and spread it on the back of his hand, similar to the way make up artists test products on their skin.

“What is that?”, she asked, her voice just shy off fearful, while she gathered as much fabric as she could between her legs to cover her crotch area.

Loki caught her moves with the corner of his eye and was amused by her feeble attempts at maintaining some modesty. Bunching all the fabric in front of her pussy was meaningless and useless, since he could smell how wet she was nonetheless. Was it due to the prospect of being treated, taken care of? Or simply because she wanted to be touched? He couldn't tell, he couldn't know, but it didn't matter, because he had to focus on two important tasks for the moment. First, he had to apply the right amount of ointment to the cuts since applying more could irritate her skin further instead of healing it and second, he had to keep himself under control when he would be too close to her even if that meant holding his breath. Anything to keep out her intoxicating smell.

He allowed himself one final look, before turning into completely professional mode, and raked his blue eyes over her spread figure. His black sweater, one of his favourites to be honest, hugged her hips and chest area perfectly and accentuated the juiciness of her thighs and the curves of her waist in an almost sadistic manner. Now that the fabric was mostly concentrated in front of her intimate areas, more of her legs was uncovered, bringing into view the roundness of her backside, although not so evidently. The colour contrast was ideal too. Black against light gold. Corruption versus innocence.

Unfortunately, when he parted his lips to answer her question about the ointment, a slight undertone of her taste reached his tongue and he instantly cursed at his enhanced abilities for the millionth time. He couldn't help but bring in mind the image of Asgard, whose oceans dripped down into the greater cosmos and whose waters evaporated into tiny sparkling stars that ascended to the skies for everyone to admire. She would taste like those waters, he was sure of it. Liquid immortality, salty ambrosia.

He cleared his throat, moistening his mouth again and answered sternly, in the way a doctor would address a patient, “That, is meant for the deeper cut on your outer thigh. As you can see for yourself, this particular one needed stitches in order to stop bleeding”, he paused to indicate at the spread out ointment in the back of his hand, “ This mixture can connect the skin's split tissue ten times faster than mere thread. It contains a special kind of water plant that only grows in the bayous of Vanaheim”, he concluded and glanced back at her face where he was surprised to meet wide, fascinated eyes and a lower lip trapped between teeth. She was looking at him and the muddy mixture on his hand with genuine curiosity, while absorbing the information that he gave like an all too eager sponge.

That was new. Apart from his mother, he'd never had anyone that actually paid attention when he talked about his interests in medicine and chemistry. It felt... satisfying.

“Is it painful?”, she asked then, after tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears, still looking at the mixture with suspicious eyes.

He came closer to her, almost positioning his body between her legs and took some of the mud in his finger, “ Not at all, little one”.

Andrea shifted just a little at his proximity, but one warning look from him made her still herself completely and wait with patience for his ministrations.

He leaned down towards her outer thigh and carefully smeared some of the ointment on the length of the deep and nasty cut. Andrea held her breath, for no particular reason, other than the feeling of his cool finger touching her so tenderly. She found herself wondering how can a man with such big and dangerous hands be capable of touching someone so softly. She doubted that he had put any pressure at all.

“It doesn't hurt now, does it?”, he asked, still in a leaning position. He knew that the mixture was painless as it absorbed into the split skin, but it was a question that would enable him to stay down there for just a little bit longer, Both of their smells had been mixed into the fabric of the sweater, his musky decay and her lavender youth, and it made his head lighter. He wasn't ready yet to give it up.

“No, I'm okay”, Andrea answered, but her words were met with silence, apart from an approving humming noise that escaped his lips, the vibrations of it managing to raise goosebumps all over her body.

After that, Loki produced a white cotton gauze out of thin air and gently placed it on top of the now muddied cut. It stayed there, glued as if by magic. Probably, he had indeed magicked it into place, because it didn't glide down her leg nor did it lose its balance at all.

He leaned away from her and wiped his hands with a towel, again produced into existence by his magic, and turned to the night stand once again. Her eyes followed him carefully, as he hooked a long finger inside the bottle and got out some of its contents, which he then spread on the back of his hand, similar to the previous mixture.

“And what is that for?”, Andrea asked a bit hesitantly, observing his nimble fingers.

He smirked, but it wasn't mean. It was self indulgent. He liked her inquiries and he liked answering. It fed his pride somehow and gave him a sense of superiority, since he was the one with all the answers to the magical things she was witnessing. But, apart from that, she was so unlike all the others, who would just accept whatever was thrown on their faces and would refrain from voicing whatever was in their minds. The truly magnificent thing about this woman was that despite her trepidation at questioning, she did it anyway and that kind of bravery, the bravery of wanting to learn, he admired.

“That, little one...”, he began explaining as he approached her again, this time, a lot closer than before, “... is an ointment of my own invention. It is basically, pure, frigid ice, extracted from the lakes of Jotunheim, whose metallic elements have magical healing powers, emulsified with simple human made cream for the irritability of the skin. I have also injected it with some of my healing seidr to make it stronger. It will make those tiny cuts disappear in less than two hours”, he finished, somewhat triumphantly, but the sudden crease between her brows had him falling abruptly from his high.

“What is it?”, he asked softly, taking her chin between his fingers and tilting it towards his face. When they locked eyes, he spotted regret and something else that he couldn't name exactly.

“It's just...”, she began hesitantly, “... you went into so much trouble for... for me. You should have just dropped me off at the first hospital and be done with it. Now, I feel like...like a bur-”.

“Don't”, he cut her off sternly, squeezing her jaw between his fingers at the same time, “You' re not allowed to say that, little one. Taking you to the hospital was never an option. Human doctors are incredibly slow, you would have bled out before they even put you on a bed, and besides...”, he paused, considering it twice before uttering his next words, “... Andrea, had I taken you to the hospital, my oaf of a brother and his mighty friends would have been summoned instantly. They would obviously assume I did this to you and I would have been removed from the premises immediately”, he lowered his head on her spread lap for a bit and when he spoke again he didn't know why he sounded so cruel and bitter, “ In that unquestionably likely scenario there's a possibility that I would never be allowed to see you again”.

Andrea's jaw tightened as she swallowed a thick lump down her throat that would have burst out into tears had she not controlled herself at the right moment. She hadn't expected such an answer. A sly remark, a sneaky dirty joke, she could handle, because these were normal reaction from him. But this heartfelt confession was out of the ordinary and she found herself back in that little room at the club, straddling his lap and listening to a most gracious offer. She didn't know how to react, so she changed the subject, concentrating on another interesting detail he had revealed.

“Why... why do they keep you under such close observation?”, she deduced from his previous words.

He leaned backwards and let go of her chin. With a half smile on his lips, he answered truthfully, “ They do not trust me”.

“Why?”, she pressed. Had he not saved the people of Asgard alongside his brother? Had he not landed the spaceship safely on Earth? Had he not aided the Avengers in some of their missions afterwards? That is what the news had said, after finally having accepted that he was indeed trying to change his ways.

He tilted his head to the side, as if not understanding the question and inspected her curiously, “ Would you trust the man who brought his father's enemies into his realm, almost managed to wipe out an entire race, attempted to take over your planet, nearly succeeding in the process, killed, murdered, slaughtered in the name of his rage and overthrew his predecessor twice by the use of magic in order to ascend the throne he was promised since childhood?”.

“No. I trust the man that saved me from illegal pornography and rape. Why... why would I wish you any different? Different might not have been what I needed back in that room”, she paused for breath, summoning the last bits of courage, “If you're telling me that you haven't changed at all over the last years and that you remain the man you were when you did all those things ... then I' ll still have it”, she concluded and stared at him with half of the confidence she actually possessed.

Loki's lips parted with the intention of coming back with an equally bold statement, but as he went through her words again and again in his mind, he realised that there was no need to defend himself from her. He only needed to accept her words, for they were spoken with honesty and... admiration. Still, he had to be sure that she meant them and didn't just utter them to appeal to his softer side. The side that craved affirmation and affection.

He leaned forward to the point where their noses almost touched and noticed instantly how her breath hitched in her throat and how her lips parted in surprise at the close proximity of his own, however she didn't flinch, but stood her ground, eyes locked on his.

“Maybe you should reconsider”, he whispered, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

Andrea should have found it threatening. His position, his closeness, his words, that damn smile, everything, but instead, something inside her snapped, as she realised... _You're playing me_. What kind of tactic was that? What kind of twisted mind game? First, he confesses that he needs her by his side, in his house, in his bed, in his very arms and the next minute he attempts to threaten her away from him. _Why is this so intriguing...,_ she thought curiously. From, '' oh, I need you little dancer, let me help you little dancer'', to '' I tortured, I killed, I'm a monster, stay away from me'', he had gone in just two, maybe less, days time. This wasn't who he was. This was insecurity creeping in and twisting his mind. His wish wasn't to make her leave, but to confirm that she would stay, probably because a part of him knew that everyone left sooner or later, Andrea guessed.

She mentally braced herself for whatever was about to come and whispered, her breath landing upon his thin lips, “ Not today...”, she gazed down in the distance between their bodies and then back up to his eyes, “... Loki”.

The evil smile faded away from his face at the sound of his name on her lips. A satisfied grin took its place that reached his eyes and lit them up in the most otherworldly manner. His instant mood change was confirmation enough for Andrea that the answer she had dared utter was a pleasing one. So far, the addition of his name had been the boldest thing she had to do in dealing with him. Opening herself or trusting him to heal her were nothing in comparison to the simple, intimate act of calling him by his name, yet, it wasn't as unfamiliar as she originally thought it would be. Those four letters sounded right when they escaped her mouth and the full of praise stretch of his lips that followed had made her even more comfortable with the word.

But his next moves had her doubting herself again and curse at the sudden boldness she had exhibited. He averted his eyes from her and dropped them to her lap, where he cautiously snaked his hands under her knees and lifted them slightly off the mattress. He then parted her legs wider, to the point where her inner thigh muscle started to ache from the stretch. As he did that, she moved her own hands behind her and pressed them on the mattress in order to find some balance. _Just like in the dream..._ , she thought briefly and the flitting image of rose petals crossed her mind.

He had a dangerous expression on his face. Something between, '' I'll fuck you raw where you sit'' and '' let me take care of you'' and the problem was that she didn't know which to choose and which one was actually the case at the moment. So, for a couple of seconds, her strong facade broke, allowing fear to creep in and wrap a cold hand around her heart. What if she had urged him on more than she should with her words? What if he took them as a sign that she was willing to give herself at any given chance or, even worse, what if she had showed him that she was ready for him to administer a good portion of the promises he had made her that night in the little room?

 _Were you mine, I would punish that little act of_... _the scent between your legs drives me_... _how you'll taste little one_... All these thoughts danced in a frenzied rhythm inside her head, causing her a headache and a nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She peered up at his face while he peered down at the limited space between them and the answer to all her worries came with a playful smirk and a doctor like voice, “ The ointment from Jotunheim will feel extremely cold, so be prepared”.

Andrea wasn't sure if she needed to let out a sigh of relief or a sigh or hormonal frustration, as he leaned down again, all casual and professional, just in the middle of her spread legs and began to rub her cuts with the creamy milk white liquid. He was slow and thorough and the coldness of the cream made her want to moan, because it seemed to burn rather than freeze the cuts. Perhaps that's how ice from Jotunheim worked. Perhaps that's how ice worked in general, or perhaps that was just how good Loki's fingers felt. She didn't want to, but every time he caressed her with that deviously cold, slippery mixture, her heart rate quickened, making her chest heave, no matter her efforts to keep it under control.

In the end, she dealt with it by digging her fingers into the soft silk sheets, but unfortunately, her gaze managed to always follow the movements of his fingers, so delicate and nimble, dancing across her valleys of skin. And then, she would drag her eyes on his beautiful raven locks and she would think, as if in a trance, _I tangled my fingers in that glorious mane, I felt their softness as I sang and danced..._

She chocked effectively every whimper that threatened to escape her, yet soon her effort of control affected her body in a bad way, because each drowned moan and gasp started to attack the bruises on her belly and ribs. The stubs of pain weren't unbearable, she guessed, for the time being.

The bigger problem was the slippery slick between her legs that rubbed against her panties. Her eyes widened in mild shock and imminent panic when Loki's face got dangerously close to the specific area. She hoped that he would not comment on it, or make any nasty or overly sexy remarks, because if he did, she wasn't sure she could handle it and not orgasm on the spot. But he already knew.

He didn't stop applying the icy mixture on her cuts nor did he raise his head enough to level himself with her height. He simply gazed upwards and caught her terrified stare, locking her there, as he smirked knowingly, eyes afire with mischief and smugness. After that, he gazed back down and continued his work, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just told her with his eyes that he knew how she was wet for him. Because of him.

She would have fainted right there from the shame if a sharp pain hadn't pulsed violently through her middle, specifically resting on the bruises. This time she couldn't hold back a grunt of discomfort and one arm came to wrap around her belly, but she did it so abruptly that she hissed in pain.

“Lay down. It will soothe you for a bit”, Loki ordered softly, after deciding that the numbing lotion he had instructed her to rub herself with was beginning to wear off.

Andrea shook her head dismissively, trying to pretend that it wasn't a big deal, “ No it's fine, I can take it”.

The look he gave her though was feral and when he spoke, his voice had lost all softness and left no room to argue, “ Lay down. Now”.

She gradually lowered her upper body to the mattress, using as much strength as she had in her arms to support herself. She rested her back on the soft bed soon after and although initially, the stretch of the abused skin on her rib and belly was uncomfortable and a tad painful, it eventually got better and she found herself able to relax her shoulder blades and rest her hands on her stomach.

Coming to terms with the idea that probably now, in this position, Loki had a full view of her lacy covered lady bits, she allowed herself to gaze upwards at the ceiling and empty her mind from all thoughts. Being like this, on full display for the greedy God to inspect, there was not much she could do.

Yet the silence in the room, she couldn't bear, because she was aware that should she close her eyes and lose her composure then that same silence would be instantly filled with her moans.

To distract herself, she asked the first thing to come to mind, “ Before... you said something about ''seidr''. Is that what your magic is called?”.

Loki chuckled and leaned back, away from her legs to wipe his hands with the same towel from before, “ Curious little thing that you are”.

Andrea smiled widely at the sound of his voice, feeling grateful that all the tension and seriousness from before had faded away. He was easier to talk to when he was in a good mood. Less cryptic and insecure.

“I just like learning new things”, she admitted shyly.

While her question had been voiced as a distraction, it wasn't a lie that it also served the purpose of indulging her curiosity. It was in her nature, this need to explore the unknown or at least, be supplied with a mild idea of a concept. It was what made her so stubbornly studious, when procrastination didn't kick in of course.

“You are partly correct”, he began to say, raising himself from the floor and taking a seat at the edge of the bed, beside her legs. He decided to indulge this beautiful woman with an answer while providing a little information about himself as well, “ ''Seidr'' is indeed what my magic is called, but it's not the only type of magic I know how to manipulate. With seidr I can conjure things up, make them disappear and reappear, produce illusions, make clones of myself...”, he paused for a moment to gaze down at her still spread thighs and their interesting straw colour. He ran a fingertip lazily from her knee to her apex and back again until she shivered, “... I can heal, defend, protect... pleasure...”, he looked at her behind his shoulder and noticed that she had propped herself on her elbows and was staring at him with the same fascinated look from before, “... but the darker activities...”, he continued and at the same time snapped his fingers to make the bottles and the towel disappear, “... those, come from other types of magic, little one. Magic more ancient than Earth, Asgard and any other realm known in the cosmos”.

At that she frowned, her eyes questioning, “ And how do you possess it? How did you learn it?”.

“I read a book”, he shrugged.

Andrea's jaw dropped, “You read a book?”.

“I read a book”, he repeated, as if it wasn't a big deal.

“You're saying that you learned magic like that, dark and dangerous, from... a book... just like that?”, she elaborated a bit, just in case they weren't talking about the same thing.

“Yes. I found it in the palace library and... borrowed it”, before the last two words, he winked at her.

“Right, ouch...oh...”, Andrea wanted to say more but the stubbing pain in her middle returned in earnest and she had to drop back down on the mattress with a grunt.

Loki was on to her in an instant. He balanced himself on one knee upon the mattress and a straight arm somewhere on the left side of her head. Once she noticed his new position, she crouched herself underneath him and her hands came up to clutch at the neck of the sweater.

She swallowed the panic his looming over her was rousing inside and asked in a low voice, “ How... how does your seidr feel?”.

He smiled then, a mischievous but not dangerous smile, while his eyes raked over her lovely spread out figure, “You're about to find out”.

Andrea mentally prepared herself for whatever was about to come and did the same with her body as well, by shutting her thighs and squeezing the fabric of the sweater's neck with her fingers. She tightened her jaw, even though it brought pain on the bruise on her cheekbone. But apparently, she did something wrong, or she guessed wrongly, because Loki started shaking his head disapprovingly.

“ No, little dancer. I need you to relax for me”, he started explaining, as he balanced himself solely on his knee and used both his hands to unwrap her fingers from the fabric. As he took her hands in his own and placed them on either side of her head, he whispered, close to her face, “ If you don't relax, your body will push my magic out and cause us both unnecessary discomfort. That is how healing seidr works”, he continued as he drew tiny circles on the inside of one wrist, slowly calming her nerves, “ You have to accept it inside you. It cannot be forced”, he finished and gave her time to understand his meaning as he tucked her hair behind her ears.

Her eyes followed his fingers, at first suspiciously, but then wondrously. There it was again. The affection in his moves and the warmth in his usually cold stare after the valedictory speech which explained, not only how he wanted her to behave, but also how she had to feel in order for this to work.

''Accept it inside you'', ''It cannot be forced''. He was clearly passing messages which her mind threw at the bin of dirtiness and very sensual concepts. Andrea might be a virgin, but that only applied to her body, because her mind...Hm. Sometimes, the thoughts she had would disturb even her own self.

And then another question popped in her mind that had her panicking again and making this whole thing even more difficult to process. Without hesitation, she asked, “ What do you mean it would cause us discomfort? I don't... I don't want to hurt you”.

At that he smiled widely and allowed his heart to swell at how easy it was for her to forego the harm that could come to herself and concentrate on him. _So selfless..._

“You couldn't hurt me if you tried”, he said and winked, but then added in a more serious tone, “ Now, repeat what I told you and let's begin. You've gone through enough pain already. I wish to remedy that”.

Andrea nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but as expected, she messed the words up, “ I have to accept you inside me... eh, oh no no no, it... accept it, your magic, I mean, in me, yeah”, she ended up saying, blushing furiously and averting her eyes from his amused, smug face.

“Good girl”, he praised, practically bathing in the signs of her deep sexual frustration.

Without further due, his hand came to rest on her apex thigh, where he started caressing his way upwards, rubbing the skin soothingly on occasion as a means of relaxing her . When he reached the fabric of the sweater, his sweater, and began to bunch it up, he noticed that she flinched slightly, but other than that, did nothing else to squirm away. He knew how uncomfortable it was for her, this sudden revelation of her skin to a man she met a week ago, but there was nothing to be done about it. He had to quicken the healing process of her body to save her from a very slow and painful recovery in the future. Seeing her suffer to move or to do simple things, like stand up or tie a shoe would be something unbearable to him and something that would wear her out for a long period of time.

He looked to her face, only to discover that her eyes were glued on the massive hand that was slowly and intimately revealing her flesh bit by bit. Once he reached her stomach he stopped lifting the fabric and let it rest there, while he inspected the purplish, going to black, bruise on her lower belly. He began calculating how much energy would be enough to make the layers of skin, beneath this ghastly discolouration, repair themselves. Fortunately, as he had judged in his first inspection, the night he first brought her here, the damage only extended on the surface of her skin and did not reach inwards to any vital organs, which meant they hadn't hit that hard. He didn't even want to think about the serious internal damage those boys might have inflicted on her body had they not been drugged and as a result, physically weaker.

As if hearing his thoughts, the little dancer asked in a shaky voice, “ How bad is it?”.

Loki shook his head and glanced at her with a half smile on his lips, “ The damage is only external, meaning that it's only your skin that experiences problems. The colour, is a result of the pressure of the blow. It is a little deep, but on the inside...”, he paused to rest his palm, flat and with fingers splayed wide, on her lower belly, as tenderly as possible, “... you' re absolutely fine”.

She nodded her understanding and after sniffing once or twice, concentrated back on relaxing her muscles and her mind. She flexed her fingers to make sure there was no tension left and took a deep breath, feeling at the same time, the skin of his hand becoming one with her belly. It was a strange feeling, but she decided that she enjoyed it, for no particular reason, other than it felt warm and steady. And if one added to the mix, that it was, his, hand, well then things were pretty much self explanatory.

She heard Loki mumbling some words in a foreign language and instantaneously, his hand glowed gold and produced something like steam which escaped from under his palm and evaporated in the air above her body in little blue and green sparkles. It was a beautiful sight.

Suddenly, she felt an exquisite warmth spreading on the surface of her abused skin. It almost felt like someone was pouring hot water on her belly and out of instinct she tightened that area, but Loki was quick to sense it and reprimand, “ Soft now, little one. Don't tense on me. Breathe and let it drop”.

Andrea obeyed and allowed her belly to sink back down. Loki aided her by massaging the area with his palm, though without detaching his hand. The softness of the now plump skin under his touch had images of him nuzzling his face against her belly, popping in his mind, before he even knew he was thinking them. And as he watched how her breath quickened and how her lips parted to bring more oxygen in, he imagined burying his face below her belly as well. _Concentrate,_ a voice inside him scolded and so he shook his head and focused on the energy surging through his hand once again.

He shot a more intense wave of that delicious warmth through her and this time, instead of it staying on the surface, it penetrated her skin and got inside her womb, making something there explode magically. She arched her back and pushed needier into his palm, humming her pleasure and gasping for breath. When he started manipulating the heat, by rubbing it with the flat of his fingers, into her skin, reaching deeper and deeper, her eyes flattered shut and her lips formed a lovely O, similar to the way she reacted when she pleasured herself. Upon thinking that, she blushed furiously, but she had no further time to dwell on it, as another heat wave coursed through her body, much more intense than the previous one.

Her resolve at keeping herself quiet melted away and so she moaned under him, clutching at the sheets on either side of her head without inhibitions. She kept twisting the fabric in her fists, as the exquisite warmth pulsed and healed her inside out, sending feather like jolts of electricity down to the spot between her legs.

Her thighs began to rub against each other on their own accord, trapping or releasing the wetness that was now smeared sufficiently through her folds. The effects of that magical warmth didn't feel like an orgasm, she decided, but they didn't feel like healing either. It was a sensation between injecting yourself with drugs and placing hot stones on all your tense nerves. That was the best way to describe it.

As if on cue, Loki smirked and whispered close to her face, “ It feels good, does it not?”.

He was rewarded with a wanton sigh and a hazy gaze of her forest green eyes, before they flattered shut again, lethargically.

“Ss... nice... so...”, she mumbled, releasing at the same time a shuddering breath.

Loki chuckled at her response, revelling in the way she was so lost in herself. He had never seen her so relaxed, not even when she slept and it made him proud that his magic had succeeded in reducing her to a moaning mess, a writhing siren that squirmed underneath him. Even though it felt like tensing up, in truth, his healing magic did the exact opposite. It relaxed the body to the point of tiredness and inability to move, as every blood vessel and torn tissue repaired itself rapidly. By the time he would finish, she would likely be exhausted.

He knew she wanted more of it, but the bruise on her belly had healed to perfection and so he began to minimize the energy he sent through her bit by bit, so as to not startle her with a sudden withdrawal.

She didn't even notice it when his hand abandoned her belly and moved upwards to rest on her bruised rib. She was so lost in sensation that it made him imagine how she would look when brought to the most mind blowing peaks. What sounds she would make, how would her features contort...

Andrea felt the same jolt of warmth penetrate her skin, but this time it didn't concentrate on her womb, but on her chest, making her breasts somehow swell and feel heavier, similar to a mother's after labour. She might be dazed and confused at the moment, but it seemed to her like his magic concentrated itself on different centres of the body, gathering there and forming a solid base before beginning to distribute itself on the areas that were problematic. So peculiar a procedure, but so terribly satisfying. Why would she want to go to a doctor when she could take advantage of Loki every time she was hurt? The corners of her mouth perked up in a little smile at the thought of that.

“Ah”, the next heatwave had her gasping and its force was so strong that she couldn't keep her hands at bay any longer. Her only concern was to find something solid to clutch at, to anchor herself to, because her own body felt boneless.

She didn't know how she managed it with closed eyes, but somehow, she found the arm that Loki used to balance himself on the bed and following it, like a ladder, she reached his shoulder and held on tightly, squeezing him weakly, while whispering something that must have been a thank you, before her arm started feeling too heavy and dropped back on the mattress with a light thump.

Loki, in his exhaustion and slight sleepiness due to the excessive amounts of energy that he used on her, found strength in the act and whispered his welcome with a genuine smile, he didn't know he was capable of producing.

Looking back down where his hand rested, he noted with satisfaction that the bruise was gone and he, once again, started to gradually withdraw his seidr.

As he did that, he indulged in raking his eyes over her overly warm body, spread out before him like a feast, ripe and delicious, ready for him to devour, if he so wished it.

No one had ever before drew such pleasure from his healing magic and he had healed a lot of people over the course of the last centuries. In battles with Odin and Thor, soldiers always needed tending to in order to survive their wounds and the hardships of war. His mother and Eir, Asgard's greatest healer, could not be present in the battlefields and so Loki had taken to studying the ways of flesh, medicine and healing magic in order to assume the role the two women could not during war. He had had tutors and Eir too, teach him how to mend bones, repair tissue, offer relief from pain and much more and as the studious young man that he was, it didn't take him long to excel in the specific field.

Generals, commanders, horse men, banner men, mere soldiers, all of them had passed at least once from his hands, but none of them had ever reacted like Andrea. No one had moaned and writhed underneath him. No one had touched him to communicate their thanks. Perhaps the difference was an environmental one. In war time no one had the mind to thank you for your services, while in a secluded bedroom, with the light of the sunset shining on your face and a beautiful woman trusting you with her body, things were different.

Since the bruise on her rib was a lot minor than the one on her belly, the procedure of summoning the heat waves back had needed lesser time and thus, he left the certain area and moved immediately to her cheekbone, were the last purple patch of skin was.

When his palm connected with half her face, her eyes shot open and she looked a bit confused and unsure, like she was just coming back to her senses, or down from a high. But soon, that expression changed into one of tenderness and affection and gratitude. She smiled at him and even though it didn't reach her eyes, it was a genuine tired stretch of lips that signalled her understanding of his moves and gave the permission to proceed.

He had never before done a completely altruistic thing in his life. Something that wouldn't benefit him at all. Perhaps the only benefit he could think of was that after this healing session he would have convinced her that he can take care of her whatever the case, but then again that wasn't a fact, just an assumption. It felt... satisfying to know that it was treasured and appreciated, this selflessness he was exhibiting, against his natural instincts of self preservation .

Andrea's eyes remained opened only for a flitting second, because as soon as he started distributing his magic on her face, her eyelids fell shut and her mind drifted to nothingness. She saw black, but it was a welcome colour and only felt warmth. Her lips parted and her breathing gradually slowed down, as if she was high from having smoked marijuana or something of the sort. She had no idea when it was exactly that she leaned her head to the side, nuzzling her cheek on his palm like a content cat. Was she purring too? She didn't know, she didn't care.

And then it was all gone and Loki was leaning away from her to stand up in front of the bed, brushing his hair backwards with his hand, casually asking how she was feeling.

“What?”, Andrea asked in a hoarse voice and looked around the room nervously and confusingly, like she was trying to determine where she was all over again.

Loki's chuckle brought her back to her senses with a jolt and she sat up on the bed abruptly, hands all over her body, trying to understand where had the stiffness and pain gone. She looked up to him and regretted it instantly, as she was met with his smug, self satisfied grin, gazing down at her amused, but not with disrespect.

She blushed like crazy under the intensity of his eyes and proceeded in gathering her legs under her, while dragging the sweater as far down as it would go, struggling to cover as much of her nakedness as possible. She suddenly felt too exposed in front of him and going back to the moments when she had practically moaned underneath him, her temperature ascended to ten degrees plus.

She cleared her throat and asked timidly, “ Am I okay?”.

Loki tilted his head to the side and gave her a nod, “ As healthy and strong as a horse”.

She nodded half smiling and folded her hands in front of her chest, not knowing what else to do, “ What now?”.

“Now...”, he whispered hoarsely as he got rid of his shoes and then his shirt in one swift motion, “... we rest”.

As soon as the shirt was off, she lowered her gaze to her lap, suddenly too shy to look at him.

She had never seen him shirtless before, actually she had never seen anyone she liked shirtless before, and without wanting to, got a little shocked at the sudden exposure of skin.

She kept glimpsing at him with the corner of her eye as he strode to the other side of the bed, after having dropped the shirt on the armrest of a chair and having pushed his shoes to the side.

When he spoke, she flinched slightly, but kept her sitting position on the bed, “ I know you' re having naughty thoughts about me little one, but I can promise you that if I tried to fulfil any of them tonight, I would fail miserably”, he paused to gracefully collapse on the bed.

Andrea turned her ashamed face to the side to look at him and saw that he was adjusting a pillow under his head, his hands coming to rest behind his neck, chest open and exposed.

He met her gaze then and said jokingly, even though his tone was dangerously seductive, “ Give me a couple of hours and then you can use me as you wish”, and winked filthily.

Andrea's lips parted and twitched into a shy smile as her cheeks reddened and her knuckles came up to cool them off a bit.

Still not looking at his half naked body, she scooted upwards on her side of the huge bed and adjusted herself as discreetly and quietly as she could into a lying position on her side with her front to him. She hated shifting the mattress with her weight when other people were also on it. Actually, now that she thought about it again, this was the first time she had someone else on a bed next to her, apart from that first time when it had been inevitable due to her episode. Still, all her life, it had been she and the horrible nightm-.

 _Wait a minute_ , she thought, frowning, as she adjusted her sweater to cover her apex thighs.

“ Can I ask one last question?”, she whispered, tiredly while fighting back a yawn.

Loki turned his head to the side and gifted her with a grin, which made her avert her eyes from his and lower them to the mattress between them.

“Would it stop you if I said no?”, he teased.

“No”, she smiled.

“ What is it then?”, he inquired, his eyes bright and interested even through his general exhaustion.

She took a deep breath and asked, “ Did you... did you do any spells on me the night I... you know... went through my... shock phase?”, she wasn't sure if people actually used the term ''shock phase'', but no other words would come to her right now. She was too nervous to speak English properly.

Loki' s eyebrows furrowed, “No, nothing of the sort. Why do you ask?”.

“It's just that I...”, she paused for a moment, because she wasn't sure if she wanted to share this with him or what details of the situation to omit, “... I have nightmares. It's a condition. I've had it since childhood. Psychologist said my imagination is too vivid. I thought that perhaps a spell could have calmed me down enough to sort of... numb my subconscious and prevent me from dreaming. It was a wild guess...”.

He didn't say anything for a couple of moments. He only stared at her with curiosity and affection. A small smile crept on his lips as he understood her meaning and related to it, but he also noted that she wasn't completely honest about the origins of the question. He sensed hesitation in her tone and she was way too fidgety for this... theory of hers to be a wild guess. So, he gave her another chance to ask for what she really wanted.

“Those nightmares...”, he began, turning on his side to look at her better, “...do you have them every night?”.

Andrea nodded, “ Sometimes I dream of nice things as well. But I always have at least one nightmare. Like I said, the psychologist said it's because of my imagination. Some of the things I see are not even that scary, they are just... too intense and they wake me up”.

Loki nodded his understanding and extended his hand to her face to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “ Do you remember them when you wake up?”.

“No. Well, I remember one, actually. But I don't... I don't want to talk about it. If I tell it... perhaps I'll see it tonight and I don't want that”, she admitted, some parts of the horrifying dream coming back to her memory anyway.

He withdrew his hand and nodded again, “I did no spells on you Andrea. I simply held you and we slept”, he stated then, a puckish smile playing on his lips.

Her eyes darted to his face for a brief moment and then dropped back down on the mattress in defeat. If he had done a spell on her, it would have been much easier to ask him to do it again so that she could get some much needed rest. But since no magic was involved in her sleeping like a baby the night she was brought here, she was forced to assume that the cause for her peacefulness had simply been him. His touch, his proximity and his caresses. It sounded cheesy and stupidly romantic and she wanted it beyond comprehension.

But she couldn't bring herself to ask him to hold her. Her lips parted a couple of times, it wasn't as if she didn't try at all. Perhaps what scared her was that he was naked from the waist up, while in the first night she had slept in his arms, her body had been met with leather and metal. Or maybe, it was the desperation she knew would coat her voice as she would make the weak request. _Weak_. It made her stomach clench, the mere thought of it. It was the strangest of moments to be thinking of this, but she kept considering herself a sort of a survivor in a foreign land, with no friends, not much financial help from home and with an illegal job that had almost gotten her pornographically taped. Knowing all that, it sounded so petite and derogatory to ask a man, this man, to hold her in his arms while she slept, so that she wouldn't have nightmares.

“That's alright. I was just wondering. Thanks”, she said, nodding with her head to emphasize her words and proceeded in turning on her other side, facing away from him. In her attempt at protecting her pride, she forgot to even seek the warmth and comfort of the black furry blanket. She whispered her goodnight over her shoulder and left him staring at her back, while she stared absent mindedly out the window, into the cold, grey, British afternoon.

Loki considered leaving the situation as it was. It would serve as a lesson to abandon her with her nightmares, because next time she would ask for him with no hesitation. But he couldn't do that. Not when he knew of both nightmares and the torture of being forced out of slumber with sweat dripping down one's forehead. He couldn't be so cruel to her, he wouldn't.

After all, she was a proud, strong and independent woman and from what he had gathered so far, as stubborn and angry as he was at times. There would be enough time in the future to teach her softness and submission. How to ask, even beg, for his touch.

And besides, for reasons unknown to him, the space between them, the expanse of empty mattress separating their bodies felt wrong and made him restless. He wanted to touch her, to sleep with her in his arms or with his face buried in her hair or with her head resting safely under his chin, something, anything. So when he began repositioning himself, he didn't know if it was because he had to protect her from her own mind or because he wanted to fulfil his own needs.

Andrea felt the mattress sink dangerously close to her body and for a moment, panic overwhelmed her, but it was soon replaced by a fuzzy, giddy sensation in her chest as she felt the soft blanket being pulled over her bare legs.

The next thing she felt was his hard, naked body pressing its front against her back. She stiffened at first and then, after finding some courage, she tried to wiggle away, but was firmly stopped, as his big arm hugged her around the waist and pulled her roughly towards him, making her gasp. His hand came to rest on her stomach, dangerously close to her breast, and formed a little fist there, clutching at the fabric of the sweater. His contented humming vibrated against the back of her neck and each breath he let out melted her skin slowly and sweetly. She allowed herself to be lulled into sleep by it, whilst avoiding the sensation of something quite pointy and extremely large poking at her arse.

No matter now. She didn't want to get away. Everything felt so warm and welcome. His body was positioned in a way that sort of caved her in, suffocating her dominantly, yet in the most gentle way. She wiggled closer to him, the expanse of her back connecting completely with his chest, stomach and core and breathed deeply, as she tried to come to terms with how wanted and treasured she felt by him. So scary and mind blowing at the same time.

“Sweet dreams”, he breathed against her neck and she practically felt the grin on his lips as he spoke the words. It didn't make her feel ashamed though. Instead, she was grateful that he understood what she craved without her having to say it out loud.

They lay there in comfortable silence, glued to each other like magnets, until their brains shut down and they fell into a deep slumber.

 


	11. room for decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea and Loki's short time together has come to an end. She chooses to take a step back in order to consider things more clearly and make a decision and Loki, against his own desires, allows her to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I hope you are all doing alright and that your day is going great. Here's chapter 11. I would have uploaded it much sooner in the morning, but I had a bit of a lay in (is that the expression?) and didn't wake up until 12 o'clock. Had a difficult day yesterday. Some further notes concerning the chapter would be...  
> 1) warnings: angst (though not a lot and it will not last for long, rest assured), sexual tension, small amount of fluff, chapter ends in a bit of a slow burn ( but if there wasn't any slow burn then it wouldn't be natural).   
> 2) language translations:  
> niente bella = it's nothing/don't mention it beautiful   
> 3) general note: I know that this chapter seems a little frustrating and ends in a kind of heartbreak, but I can assure you, it will not last. In your hearts you already know what Andrea's answer to Loki is going to be. We just have to give her the time to process things on her own. I mean, it's what any of us would do, if we were her, right?  
> 4) last thing. This time I have included the pictures in the text, instead of linking them here. I don't know but it makes the text look more colourful for some reason and I kind of like it. So, from now on, I think I am just going to copy paste them in the text. For this chapter, there is a picture of the penthouse's kitchen and a picture of the penthouse as an open space. This was the only picture that came close to how I wanted the floors and the windows to look like and note that it still isn't exactly what I have in mind, but it's okay because it gives you some context. I really want you to see these two characters move in these spaces. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, kudos and reading, of course. Have a good rest of the day!!!

Andrea woke up first the next day, only to realise that neither of them had changed positions during the night. The only thing that was a little different was his grip. The hand that had been clutching at her sweater in a tight fist now rested flat and relaxed a couple of inches away from her stomach. Under the blanket their pairs of warm legs rested cosily against each other's.

She took a moment to relish in all the new feelings she was experiencing, stronger of them being, the feel of his warm body against her. It was so surprising that he emanated such hotness, since she was suspecting that his normal temperature should have been some degrees below zero, as he was a frost giant, but she didn't know much about his kind and so didn't take it for granted.

Returning to her previous thought, she had always found it primitive and kind of old fashioned, this need of hers to have another's body pressed against her. She had often daydreamed about it, since she was old enough to understand the changes in her own body and the confusing needs to achieve pleasures. She knew that couples liked to cuddle each other. It was a way for women to balance their hormones after sex and an activity many men enjoyed. Who wouldn't like having their lover in their arms, skin against skin, two different temperatures gradually becoming one, warm and welcoming? And although she knew of that aspect, she neither viewed it that way nor did she need it for chemical reasons.

She called it that, primitive and old fashioned, because of the way his body dominated over hers, the way he caved her in and the way he established how close he wanted her to him, by claiming her waist, made her feel safe. She craved protection and relief from responsibilities, even for a short while. She wanted to feel wanted. She needed to be important to someone. She yearned to give up her control and over to him, so that she didn't have to be afraid every time life got a little rough. She knew about her need to share burdens and go through the worst experiences hand in hand with someone she trusted. And the way this man, behind her, held her in his arms with no complaints, no comments about her being weak, no nasty remarks about how she let herself almost get raped, meant the world to her. It wasn't just the giddiness of the moment. It wasn't just the happy fussiness after just having woken up. It was her desire given shape. _I just wanna be someone's special someone._..

It went against her century's standards, she was aware. Women, this day and age, were independent, at least in the West. They bowed to no man. They were feminists. Bold and strong, because they had to be. They survived like warriors, without bending their rules and without going against their moral code. Her mother used to say, ''drag them by the balls'', when she referred to men and how they should be handled. At school, her girlfriends had stupid relationships from the age of fourteen, relationships which didn't come close to love or mutual trust or affection. They simply served the mainstream, the normal, the sexual awakening, but they meant nothing. They lasted a month and meant nothing. At the club, the women Andrea had met were cruel and unloving. They saw affection, either in the form of a simple touch or a deep-throat blowjob, as a way to make money. She didn't judge them, of course. She knew that some of those women had no choice but to resort in such measures. Some of them had families to sustain, huge bills to pay, divorce papers, child custody. Life, had made them like this and so they had to adjust.

For the three months she had been employed by that club, she too had tried to shut out all emotion and do what needed to be done. Hell, she had done so not just in the working place, but in her university's environment as well, and unfortunately had dragged this sort of behaviour into the way she communicated with people.

Others saw her the way she wanted them to see her, because she only exhibited one side of what made her who she was. Tall, brave, stubborn, intimidating, difficult to talk to, even though inside she was an introverted daisy, anxiety dripping from her petals and the very real threat of a mental condition brushing through them like a violent gush of wind during spring. She had spent a considerable amount of time building up walls to shield the flower, hide it inside her, and she had created strength and a sort of, quiet confidence out of nothing, or better, she had reinforced these qualities which already existed from back home, from her teenage years. All this effort to show off her thorns, rather than her petals, surviving all by herself, all this exhaustion with keeping people out and away from her, the undivided focus on one goal and one goal only, to go to University and be the best, and where was she now?

Wrapped in another individual's embrace. Shielded from bad dreams and protected from men who wanted to do her harm or force her into situations she gave no consent to. Relieved from the taxing task of being the stronger version of herself every single day. He had probably seen the flower and liked it, something that had never occurred to her could happen.

The longer she resisted his breath against her neck, the more she melted from it. The stiffer she kept her body against his own, the harder she snuggled closer to it moments later. The more she tried to hold her breath so that she didn't feel the rise and fall of his hand against her stomach, the more she breathed deeply, opening her body, expanding it, to get as much of his touch as possible. And the scariest thing was that the more she let go, the more she found herself, or at least, a new side of her soul. This weakness the world would crash, if she let it show. But not him. Not the man who was cuddling her, who filled himself with her scent every time he breathed. Who shared a bed with her simply out of the sheer need to have her close. He didn't seem to mind her being herself. And herself she had been, from the first time they saw each other until this very moment.

She didn't want to get up. She didn't think of running away or escaping. She felt like there was no reason for her to unmelt her body from his, because a voice inside, kept telling her that whenever she exhibited weakness, he would be strong for both of them and whenever he couldn't take the pressure of the world or its evil tongues and stinging remarks, she would happily step in to defend him and take some of the burden on her shoulders. Such a beautiful thought that was. But could it actually be fleshed out from the darkest pits of her mind into reality? She didn't know. She could only follow her feelings and that alone wasn't enough for the pragmatic and practical side of herself.

Suddenly, she heard the screeching sound of a door being opened and then closed. She froze as she heard footsteps coming towards the bedroom area. Not having the heart to shift herself and wake Loki up, she kept still and waited to see who would appear.

Relief washed over her when Mrs Granzioni came into view, although it was soon replaced by a shade of pink on her cheeks as she didn't know if she felt comfortable with the old woman seeing them on the bed like this. Well, they looked innocent enough for sure, but the thought of him being naked against her and holding her as if he had known her for over a decade, so familiarly and shamelessly, made Andrea's heart rate go a little faster.

But the old woman had nothing but warm smiles and appreciative glances between their bodies to give and that filled Andrea with encouragement.

“What time is it?”, she whispered.

“8:00 o'clock, my dear, good morning”, Mrs Granzioni replied after checking her watch.

An idea came to her then and the housekeeper could offer immense help in the execution of it.

“Can you help me get up? I want to make breakfast for him, but I don't want to wake him up. He is exhausted”, she told the woman pleadingly.

Mrs Granzioni only nodded, smiling, and moved to assist with the quietness of a cat. She uncovered Andrea's body and then lifted Loki's arm, giving the young girl the chance to carefully slip away from his grasp and stand beside her. Then she grabbed the pillow she had used to rest her head on and put it close to Loki's chest. The housekeeper set his hand down on it slowly and looked to Andrea.

“I'm going to the kitchen to get started. Join me?”, she whispered in Andrea's ear and went away before the girl had the chance to agree.

In a moment of motherly thinking, Andrea took the blanket in her hands and covered him up to the shoulders, as if he would actually get cold. She leaned her body forward and brushed some strands out of his face, revealing a jawline so sharp that you could cut yourself if you touched it and a prominent cheekbone that somehow seemed softer now that he was asleep. There was a slight crease between his brows and his lips were set on a thin line. She briefly wondered if he was dreaming, before shaking herself out of her daze and moving to the kitchen, where Mrs Granzioni had already started to preheat pans and take out ingredients from the fridge.

It was the first time she was in this part of the penthouse and although there were basically no walls separating one space from the other, apart from the bathroom, she hadn't really given it much attention or credit as long as she had been staying here.

The walls were painted a particular shade of petrol that leaned more into grey than blue, creating the perfect contrast to the white marble surfaces of the kitchen. There were many shelves on either side of the extractor hood, cooker and stove underneath, packed with plates and glasses. On the bottom shelves she spotted small appliances, like a toaster, a coffee machine, a mixer, a microwave and a couple of beautifully crafted kettles. As a kitchen it was fully supplied with everything a housewife could ask for. A fridge as big as a wardrobe with a freezer, dish washer, plenty of cupboards to store utensils and drawers spacious enough to contain a vast number of spoons, forks, knives. She briefly wondered if Loki actually lived alone or if he was hiding an army or something at a secret cellar she hadn't discovered yet.

In the middle of the space there was a marble island with a large sink, but other than that, there was nothing else on it. She deduced that it must also serve as a place to put stuff, or chop fruits and vegetables or preparing foods that couldn't be made on the main skeleton, like cutting large pieces of meat. In her own kitchen back at her apartment she didn't have all that space and usually ended up putting one thing on top of the other.

All in all, it was a wonderful kitchen. Nothing like those extremely modernised ones you saw on IKEA magazines. This one looked like it was actually used for cooking and washing and each tool and utensil was indeed there because it served a purpose, not for the sake of decoration.

“How are you feeling?”, Mrs Granzioni asked suddenly, as she took a couple of fruits and a bottle of milk out of the fridge.

“Very well, actually. I don't think I have ever felt better physically”, Andrea chirped happily, “ Everything is healed”.

“That's good to hear, darling”, the other woman acknowledged and gave her a half hug, squeezing her to emphasize the genuine words.

“So, what can I do to help? How about omelettes with vegetables? I am good at those. Does he like them?”, the younger girl blurted out heading for the fridge.

“Sure”, was all Mrs Granzioni said as she watched her amused fly around the kitchen with a newfound confidence, getting eggs, salt, pepper, tomatoes humming to herself delightfully.

“What else can we make?”, she asked then as she broke eggs at the edge of the bowl.

“Well, just about anything. We will have to prepare a lot, because...”, she paused to lean in and whisper to Andrea, as if it was a secret, “... he eats like a giant”.

Andrea couldn't hold back her giggles, “Well, he is a giant, Mrs Granzioni”, she stated jovially and when she looked beside her at the other woman she was wearing a mask of faked shock all over her face that set the young girl in yet another fit of giggles.

As they chopped and boiled and heated, Andrea's mind drifted to her University. How worried her teachers and advisor must be by now. She hadn't shown up for two days straight and had lost about four lectures. Surely even though no student would have missed her, the stuff would have definitely noticed that she was nowhere to be found. She had to contact them somehow, let them know that she was okay. Perhaps find some convincing story, a lie, to support her case, but with her bag and all the belongings in it, gone, she had no chance.

“Mrs Granzioni, I was wondering, is there a phone I can use to contact my University? I have to-”, but Mrs Granzioni cut her off, waving her hand dismissively.

“That wont be necessary. It has already been taken care of. Nothing to worry about”.

Andrea's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “ What do you mean?”, but she really wanted to say, _please tell me that it wasn't Loki that did the taking care of._ Although she would love to have him brutally torture some of the lecturers.

“Well, a friendly old lady, who also seems to know your landlord happened to see you collapse on the stairs on the way to your apartment and rushed to help you”, she winked, “ Turns out you came down with light pneumonia and your fever was so intense that you kept falling in and out of consciousness. So, this lovely old lady, who also happens to be Italian, is currently taking care of you and has you staying in bed until she decides that you are better. Why weren't you answering your phone when they tried to reach you? Oh well, you had it in mute mode, forgot about it in your distress and dizziness and it ran out of battery”, she stopped for a moment to pour some milk on the scrambled eggs while Andrea's mouth hang open, “ Your advisor, miss what's her name, was so sorry and so worried that she even forgot to ask me my name. I can't blame her. My acting skills are quite good. She said to tell you that all the notes from the classes you missed will be sent to you via email and should you wish to listen to the lectures and make your own notes, they are all recorded and uploaded on the university's website for students. She said you have the password and username. Oh and, give her a call as soon as you can so you can confirm all I have just said”.

Andrea stared at the housekeeper like she had just saved her life, with teary eyes and a slack jaw, “ Tha... thank you so much”, and rushed to wrap her arms around the woman affectionately. What did she do to deserve such kindness... from the both of them?

“Oh, niente bella”, Mrs Granzioni chuckled, returning the hug.

Andrea let go and raised an inquisitive eye brow as a devious thought crossed her mind, “ Did he put you up to this?”.

“Mm, sort of. He came up with the original lie, but it was...”, she began to list all the ways Loki's lie was inadequate putting emphasis on the words with a fall and rise of the spoon she was holding, “ … weak, flimsy, baseless, no one would believe it. I took it and... enhanced it a bit. Expanded it”.

“Don't let him hear you say that!”, Andrea squeaked and placed a finger in front of her lips to shush the housekeeper.

She only frowned and waved her hands about, before returning to her cooking, “ Pass me a knife please. It's at the top drawer to your left”.

The younger woman obliged immediately and watched absent mindedly as her cooking companion took a bit of butter and tossed it into the scrambled eggs on the pan.

“ Really, Mrs Granzioni, thank you. I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't for your help... and his”, she admitted, her tone serious and her gaze fixed on the sleeping figure on the bed.

“Don't mention it. Me and him...”, she shook her head, “... we are quite suspicious of people because we have lived long enough to witness life's evil turns and twists first hand. We wouldn't have done this for just anyone. But you are unique darling. That is how he described you and I believe him”.

Andrea smiled at that and nodded gratefully. She decided to check on the pancakes, as she was done with the omelettes, to see if they were baked enough and when she returned at the housekeeper's side with a plate of three and maple syrup ready at hand, the conversation turned to the a subject she was hoping to avoid.

“So, have you given any thought to ''the offer'' ?”, Mrs Granzioni asked, distracting Andrea from her task .

“A bit, I guess”, she admitted. Between Loki's sensual healing techniques and sleeping like dense logs wrapped around each other, she didn't really have much time to consider his words. It was just this morning that she had started to toy with the idea of living with him and what would that mean.

“I am not sure what to make of all this to be honest. It's all just a big... glorious mess, in my head”, she continued, “ And, I am not sure about the terms of the offer. I don't think I'm able to give him what he wants. I don't... I don't even know why he chose... me”.

Mrs Granzioni stopped cooking then and turned her face to Andrea, giving her the warmest smile, as she replied, “ I don't know what to tell you child. All I can say is that... when I walked in this morning, I witnessed a miracle. I witnessed the bitterest, most self-centred, egotistic and deeply disturbing being I know, hold on to someone that wasn't himself”.

The old woman expressed her thoughts with many adjectives, Andrea could tell by now, and she also noticed that she wasn't using them for the sake of it. She was creating contrasts that applied precisely to Loki and his general aura and out-take on life. Anything that left the housekeeper's mouth had a purpose.

“You suddenly pop up in his life, which, I can assure you, consisted mostly of drinking himself to sleep, cursing himself about all the things that went wrong and bedding the first woman he saw pass him by, and you disrupt his balance, like that”, she continued and clicked her fingers together to make a point.

“This megalomaniac, incredibly skilled person comes to me one day and asks me, ''how do I approach her. I don't want to scare her'' ”, she shook her head disbelievingly, smiling all the while as if those words she had never expected to come out of Loki's mouth. Which was probably the case.

“Why would he behave and ask such things? He practically oozes confidence, why would he...”, Andrea began to say, but her trail of thought was stopped firmly by the remembrance of his words at the club. _I would ask for whatever you're willing to give me_... _smile in the mornings_... _your company_... _dance for me_... _any kind of communication is vital to me_...

With Mrs Granzioni' s insight, more pieces of the puzzle that was him came together. Before that, she hadn't thought of it so deeply and no matter how rapidly everything was happening, she couldn't turn away from the fact that she identified with him. Everything he had in his life, he had taken from someone else. His name, his home, his people, his history. His magic might have been the only thing he owned, the only thing he had accomplished without having to take it from a father, a mother, a brother. An adoptive father, mother and brother. But did he ever really have someone to call his own? A friend maybe? A special lover? Did he ever have someone to hold on to while he slept?

 _For whatever you're willing to give me...,_ she thought again. _You don't want to take. You want to be given..._

“ In his own way, he says he needs me. But is he ready for what I' ll drag with me if I say yes?”, she wondered aloud, briefly thinking of her own unstable mental conditions and how catastrophic things would get if they clashed against his.

“How do you mean?”, the housekeeper inquired, but Andrea didn't feel like explaining right now.

“Nothing. Let's finish with breakfast”, she changed the subject and smiled widely, silently pleading Mrs Granzioni not to press her, a hint which the woman caught immediately.

They both worked in silence and about an hour later, they had set a table full of different dishes. Eggs, in all forms, toasts, juices, fruit salads, bacon, sausages, beans, yogurts, pancakes, all carefully cooked and strategically placed on the table, screaming to be devoured.

“Is he really going to eat all that? I am afraid we made too much”, Andrea stated as she cast a look up and down the length of their creation.

“Just wait and see”, Mrs Granzioni patted her shoulder, “ I suggest you start eating, because if he wakes up there will be nothing left in a matter of seconds”.

“That's okay, I' ll wait for him. Besides, this is supposed to be my thank you”, Andrea declared decisively.

“As you wish. Unfortunately, I can't wait with you. I have little monsters at home expecting to be fed as well”, she chuckled and put on her coat.

“You have many children?”, Andrea asked conversationally, wishing to know a bit more about the old woman before they parted ways.

“You can say that. My sons and daughters are working a lot, so they leave the little ones to me sometimes”, she replied and picked up her big purse and an umbrella.

The young woman nodded, smiling, “Okay then. Thank you again for everything. I really... really appreciate it”.

With a final hug and a kiss on the cheek, Mrs Granzioni was out the door, leaving Andrea alone with the sleeping God.

Thankfully it didn't take him long to wake up. It was probably her stomach that had roused him from sleep, since it growled like some wild animal, making evident that the juice she was feeding it for ten minutes now wasn't helping it calm down.

She remained still on the table chair she had occupied soon after Mrs Granzioni had left, and watched him as he slowly gained his senses. With hair tussled and a grumpy face, he looked like a little boy who had been denied five more minutes of sleep.

Loki rubbed contently the soft body that lay next to him, savouring every scent he caught, until he actually opened his eyes and saw a pillow under his palm and not the little dancer's stomach.

He shot up from the bed in an instant, blanket and pillow doing a dramatic flip in the air and began to frantically look around in search of her, when a quiet, muffled laughter reached his ears, easing him up and drawing his eyes to the table on the other side of the penthouse. The faint gloomy light piercing through the glass of one of the large floor to ceiling windows, washed over Andrea's figure, making her look like what a man wants to see every morning and much more. She had a hand in front of her mouth and was trying to politely choke her giggles, for some reason.

“I see my concern amuses you”, Loki joked bitterly.

She shook her head and pressed her lips together dramatically, before speaking, “ Your concern, no. But the state of your hair, yes”, and broke into another fit of laughter.

“What?”, he squinted his eyes at her and turned his head to the side to look in the mirror that hang from the closet door, not fully understanding what was wrong with...

His hair was slightly puffier than usual at the top of his head and many locks were sticking out in weird positions, never mind the ones that fell across his face. He couldn't help but chuckle at his own state as he tried to calm down the mess by brushing all of it backwards, combing any tangles with his fingers. These were the results of a truly restful sleep.

“I hope the knowledge that Gods are not always flawless gives you some gratification”, he stated in a voice thick with amusement.

Andrea continued the joke, but knew it in her heart that even with messy hair, he looked gorgeous, but for the sake of having fun she indirectly denied it, “It does actually”.

He got up with a smile on his face, rough black jeans slightly loose on his hips and took the previous day's shirt in his hands. She watched him as he put it on, the muscles on his torso and lower belly stretching tantalizingly as he lifted his arms to pass them through the long sleeves, shoulder blades pressing against each other as he pulled the fabric down. She let out a shaky breath and as soon as his eyes turned to her direction she looked away, pretending that she hadn't just stared at him getting dressed.

At the thought that his front, this toned, unyielding front had connected with her back last night, she blushed red and had to take several sips of her cold orange juice to control her temperature. Where had this horniness come from all of a sudden?

Loki went to the bathroom smirking to himself and splashed some cold water on his face to get rid of the sleepiness and then strode back to the main area, his eyes fixed on Andrea who had started chewing multiple fruits, and to the full table which he had just noticed. He wasn't used to having another person join him as he ate and now that he had her sitting on a chair, casually getting some food into her stomach while looking at him expectantly, it struck a very special nerve inside him.

“Did you make all these?”, he asked disbelievingly as he took a seat across from her.

“Sort of. Mrs Granzioni dropped by and helped me. She said you eat a lot, so we made a lot”, she explained, biting her lip in sudden anxiety.

Loki laughed at that, “She's not wrong”, but then dropped back on the chair, staring at her square in the eye. A deep need to talk and fill the silence with their voices overtook him.

“Thank you”, he said, “Although you didn't have to bother yourself with all that. Mrs Granzioni would have managed on her own”.

Andrea took her glass of juice in both hands and replied, while staring into the orange liquid, “ No, it's fine. I wanted to do something for you”, and her eyes moved up to meet his across the table, “ to repay you somehow for everything you've done for me. Breakfast was the first thing on my mind... I don't know why”.

Loki smirked playfully and said in a casual tone, “ At the risk of sounding ungrateful, which I am not, it would have been compensation enough if you had remained in my arms on the bed”, he poured himself a cup of coffee, not looking at her intentionally, “ I would have had, you, for breakfast, but we can't always have what we want, can we?”, he concluded and winked filthily before gulping down some of the bittersweet liquid.

Her mouth dropped open the same time as she closed her legs tightly, struggling to stop a sudden aching that had began to develop there. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide for herself if she had heard correctly and if he had meant what he had said.

In contrast to her own reaction, Loki smiled evilly, satisfied that he had unsettled her so sweetly, before delving into the many delicious plates in front of him. Everything looked so neat and nice that he was worried about getting used to this treatment. He was the one who was supposed to spoil her, not the other way around.

She would have kept staring at him as he ate, thinking frantically for a good enough answer, had her stomach not growled like an animal again, reminding her of her previous hunger.

“Eat, little dancer”, he simply said and Andrea didn't need to be told twice before she treated herself to a lot of buttered bread with cherry jam.

They ate in comfortable companionship for what seemed to be ages, the only sounds in the room being the clutter of forks and knives and their little chewing noises. When he had reached the seventh plate, he broke the silence with a delighted moan that made her cheeks red.

“Are the omelettes all your work?”, he asked, his voice a bit chocked as he swallowed down.

“Am, yeah. Do you like them?”, she shrugged.

He glanced between the plate and her, lifting his eye brows knowingly, “ I think I'll add your cooking skills to my offer, if you don't mind”.

Andrea's lips stretched in a wide, silent smile. Even indirect, what he had said was praise and she hungrily devoured it. But a deep frown replaced her happy expression soon after, as she remembered all about the offer.

She knew they had to talk about it and there was really no better time than now, before silence could find its way again between them, stripping her from all her boldness and courage.

She had to learn a bit more about the terms as well, as she wasn't completely buying the whole poetic speech he had thrown at her that night on the club. But she pushed that out of her mind for now, as there was another question she was aching to ask. She knew how desperate she would sound. She had sounded that way to Mrs Granzioni as well, but she had to know. She had to be given a reason that justified his choice.

“ Why me?”.

Loki paused eating and closed his eyes for a moment, mentally preparing for the conversation ahead. He sensed that this part was coming and he knew that she wanted him to elaborate on his terms and conditions before she made a final decision. He briefly thought that that was for the best. Had he not found her that night on the alley and saved her, cared for her the way he did, the last thing she would have on her mind right now would be his offer to come live with him and she would have every right to. He didn't want to imagine the details of that possibility, how abused she would be, how violated she would feel. Perhaps she wouldn't even want him to touch her, or talk to her. So, even though he didn't want to speak about the offer, he would force himself to do just that and would be as honest as he could.

“What do you mean why you?”.

“I mean, why make this offer to me out of all people? Out of all... women”, she explained even though the expression on his face betrayed that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“Must I have a reason?”, he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well, yes, I suppose. We all have different reasons for doing different things. What's yours?”, she shrugged attempting to make the whole deal appear a bit more casual.

“I have already assured you that I'm not doing this out of pity or because I think you can't survive on your own. Isn't that answer enough?”, he continued to play with words hoping to throw her off and avoid putting labels to the motives behind his proposition. But, she didn't fall into his trap. Of course she wouldn't. His little dancer was way too smart for that.

Squinting her eyes at him, as if he had said the stupidest thing in the world, she stated, “ That's not what I asked. These are your reasons why you' re not.... why you wouldn't make... an offer like that”.

Loki's lips twitched into a proud grin, “Clever little mortal”.

She had noticed without difficulty how he twisted his words so that they sounded like the answer she needed. Was he hoping to confuse her? To disorient her? Trap her into changing the subject? This behaviour, in her mind, suggested that she was approaching sensitive territory and for the life of her, she wouldn't back down now. Not when she was so close to discovering another honest piece of him. A piece that he would admit, not one that she would have to deduce from Mrs Granzioni' s words.

_You told me of your loneliness... I' m making this offer so that you don't have to feel like that any more... of the emptiness... it would be a lie if I told you I am unfamiliar with them..._

That night, he wasn't talking solely about her. He was talking about himself as well. And she had no idea why it was so important to hear it from his lips, but she just had to. If she had to make a decision about whether or not she would allow herself to drop her guard and live with him, she had to have the whole truth, phrased in a direct way and not with carefully chosen words and self-composure on point. But her plan to make him admit it fell to ruins

“ If there is always a reason for the things we do, then why did you stay? While I was gone you had every chance to leave and get yourself to a hospital. Why stay and receive treatment from me, little one? Am I not basically, a stranger?”.

Andrea was a little taken aback by the question and a bit irritated with how he kept avoiding her own need for an answer. He was trying so hard to turn the tables around and make, her, admit things, even though he knew how difficult it was for her to do so. Since childhood admitting feelings wasn't easy for her. She was the type to show with actions, not communicate her inner world. And when she did, in rare occasions, it was because she had grown tired of giving and never receiving. If she exhibited neither words nor actions then that simply meant that she wasn't interested. It was a simple moral code, that she lived by. She wasn't even sure she was supposed to have such strength of character at the age of nineteen, but it was what it was.

She was advised by the more vindictive part of herself to throw some snide remark or at least come back with a lie. But that was playing his game. That was his device. To challenge her, like alpha wolves challenge each other. He wanted her to be thrown off, to get angry, to stop asking. He attempted to bring her into an uncomfortable position, because he knew how shy she was about those things, those intimate details. Thus, she wouldn't indulge him. She would stay true to her character and not give in to the wild alpha urges that were provoked inside her, now that her territory was being under siege. Lies, deceit, sneaky ways to avoid the truth. Perhaps, if he came face to face with some real honesty, it would shake him enough, to answer likewise.

She got up slowly and went to the huge window to gaze outside in an attempt to clear her mind and get rid of the irritation.

 

“I didn't even think about leaving, Loki”, she blurted out quietly, while watching the limited sunlight graze the tops of the other buildings outside, “I wanted...”, she started courageously, but a glance towards him silenced her immediately. She looked at him with sad eyes, a silent plea to help her get this out of her chest and prove to him that she needed him, as much as he needed her.

He got up then and joined her by the window, hearing the cry for guidance echo through her mind. He knew he was playing dirty, but the question had slipped from his lips before he even realised it and he was aware that she was struggling to talk, because she had set her mind on telling him the truth. He sensed it in her discomfort and in the way her arms went around her body as he got closer and closer. _So brave...,_ he thought, his heart swelling with pride at the realisation that he was in the same room with a person that went against him. That wouldn't indulge in his game of lies, no matter how much he wanted them to. No matter how scary it was for them.

“What did you want, Andrea?”, he pressed, resting his shoulder against the window glass.

His voice was sending shivers through her and the smoky way he used when he called her name, automatically made her bite her lip and cross her legs. She decided to say what she had to say without his penetrating gaze on her, so she leaned her head backwards on the window and closed her eyes.

“I wanted to feel things...”, her voice cracked, but she continued nonetheless, “... new... things. Something other than fear and loneliness...".

Loki started inching closer and closer, his eyes fixed on that long, exposed throat of hers that he wanted to kiss more than he wanted to breathe.

Andrea let her head drop back down into a normal position, “You made me feel-”, but when she opened her eyes and her breath hitched in her throat as she saw and felt how close he was.

“How did I make you feel?”, he teased gravelly, as he began to trail a finger up and down her clothed arm.

Andrea looked away at any other direction she could, deliberately avoiding his face, but he stopped her by putting a finger under her chin and forcing her to look at him.

She blushed, like the little untried virgin that she was , while mild explosions of wetness took place between her legs making her insides warm and slippery.

“Safe”, she simply said. _Wanted, cared for, desired, needed, important,_ she thought, but refrained from giving it voice. It was enough for now. A large part of the truth was out, hanging just there, between their lips.

“Then accept my offer and let us discover what other things I can make you feel...”, he suggested smokily, with a knowing grin spread across his face. As expected, she blushed.

She drew in a sharp breath wanting to spit out the words immediately after he had stopped talking, but she hesitated, as new thoughts, rational thoughts flooded her mind.

She was a nineteen year old woman who had practically ran away from home, who had been forced to earn money in a way that she didn't enjoy, who had been brutally treated by men her age and who had suddenly, as if by divine intervention, found herself on the path of such an otherworldly man, who kept insinuating that he needed her, that he wanted her close, that he treasured her without even a justification. What was she supposed to do? Open her arms and scream to the heavens how she wanted to be taken care of by him? How she longed to be held by him? How much she wanted to engage in the most intimate conversations with him from dusk till dawn? Was she supposed to run to him, begging him to kiss her, hold her, make love to her? Never leave her?

She couldn't do this. Not right now. This was weak of her. This sudden romanticism for a man who wouldn't give her reasons. This was the basest sentimentality. She was a child at prayer, pathetic. Not a woman ready to accept that she wanted someone in her life. Immaturely weak. She pretended to be separate from other women, to have her own moral code, a code that she would break only when she had found the one. Living with him was a commitment she couldn't make. Not right now. Not with him so close, lips almost touching and eyes locked in a connection she couldn't understand. Was this love? Or survivor's guilt? Or simply gratitude towards him for having saved, treated and avenged her? No. She always had this anchor inside her, something that made up for the horrors in her past, horrors that were a part of her and would never go away. She kept being scared of letting her guard down and coming to live with him, but the truth was she was more scared of dragging her past, her history, her illness into this, whatever this, between them was. She couldn't do this to him. He needed someone, she was sure of that, although he would never admit it. But he didn't really know what he was bargaining for.

Her mind was filled to the brim with uncertainty and her brows were forming the deepest, darkest crease and he must have noticed it, because the playful smile he had on his lips slowly faded away. He turned his head to the side and nodded a couple of times, as if in apprehension, his jaw taught and unmoving as he swallowed down what seemed to the young woman to be suppressed pain. A sudden huff escaped his lips, but it wasn't a rude one. It sounded rather disappointed, especially because a sad half smile followed suit. His lower lip dropped revealing a line of perfect white teeth and she witnessed the cold, stern mask returning to his face. She mentally cursed at herself for her lack of confidence and her inability to put all personal anger and pride aside and welcome him in her life. She was punishing two people, not just herself.

“I need a little time”, she finally found the courage to say.

He didn't look at her, as he acknowledged her words, “ I know”, and then added in his usual stern voice with the tiny vibrations that sent shivers petter patting on her spine, “And you shall have it”.

He left her for a moment to go to the bedroom area, probably to retrieve his shoes. When she saw him sit down on the bed and pull very elegant biker boots on, Andrea allowed a single tear to slide down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away, fearing that he might see it.

He came back to where she stood, his strides long and urgent and extended his hand toward her, “ Come. It's time to take you home”.

Andrea hesitated in giving it, because this new official tone of his had caught her by surprised. He seemed annoyed. Irritated. Well, if she had indeed angered him with her immaturity to decide and choose what was good for her, then she could certainly push him just a bit more.

So, suddenly feeling very bold and worthy of an answer, she stated, “ You didn't answer my question”.

He raised is eyebrows, feigning innocence.

“Why me”, Andrea elaborated.

“I honestly don't know. You are already proving yourself a pain in my ass”, he mocked and took one step closer, eliminating her free space to breathe.

Andrea stood her ground and thought that if he was in a mood to make jokes, then he wasn't really that angry with her after all.

“Then why not withdraw the offer?”, she teased with a blank expression on her face and watched as his, hardened maliciously.

“You know I can't do that”.

“Why?”, she pressed.

For a few minutes he stared at her as if he wasn't really seeing her, more like he was looking at a spot through her.

“I should take you home”, he pushed back, setting her nerves on fire and proceeding in putting some distance between them.

She didn't know what came over her, but she wrapped her fingers around his leather strapped wrist and tugged at him, firmly pleading him to come back to her. Her voice was dancing between anger and despair when she spoke, “No. Not until you give me a reason”.

The pressure on his hand caught his attention immediately and his eyes began to dart between her face and her hold on him, the act being almost comical after a few seconds. _And you keep wondering why_ , he thought amused.

For some reason, Andrea sensed that she had crossed some kind of line with her little bold grip and so she made a quick job of unwrapping her fingers and letting him go, but he was way faster than her.

The moment she broke contact, he snaked his hand around her own wrist, catching it in a grip that she thought would be rough, but was gentle and caring instead. Without much resistance from her side, he dragged her toward him, until her body was brought flash against his.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she collided against him. Chest against chest, top thighs against top thighs, noses almost touching. If one of them breathed too fast or too deeply, their lips would touch and so she tried to hold her breath, feeling that she would soon faint from the proximity, while Loki resisted the urge to ravage her with the entirety of his mouth.

When he felt calm enough, he said in a throaty tone, “ Your kind bores me, but you don't, little dancer. Let us just say, for now, that you intrigue me”, he tilted his head to the side and brought the inside of her wrist to his lips, placing a soft kiss there, “Now, don't push your luck further. Be a good girl and picture your place and I shall teleport us there”.

Andrea's legs began to shake and her knees felt weak as he ordered in that deep, dominant voice. So far, on their time together he had used it only on Sunday night at the club, but then it had served as a tool to help her understand the situation and focus on getting out of it. Now, he used it for very different reasons. Reasons that screamed, ''do as I say, or I'll bend you over my knee''.

“Fair enough”, she timidly said, letting out the breath she held all this time.

Before she closed her eyes to imagine her tiny apartment, she saw him grin triumphantly and when she opened them again, his spacious dining area had vanished and they were standing in front of her single, miserable looking bed.

He let her go then and took a couple of steps back, as if the changing of surroundings suddenly prevented him from being so intimately close to her.

To break the newfound awkwardness, Andrea suggested shyly, “ Your sweater, am, give me a minute to change and-”.

“No”, he ordered, “Keep it. I have something of yours...”, he continued as he caressed the leather strap around his wrist, “... now you have something of mine”.

She didn't say anything, just nodded her agreement, barely able to contain her excitement at getting to keep something that would make her feel close to him. It would perhaps save her from the bad dreams of the following nights.

“I also have another thing that belongs to you”, he said then and began moving his hands in weird patterns in the air, producing deep green smoke and in the blink of an eye, he was holding her trusted emerald backpack.

Andrea's jaw dropped in surprise and her eyes went wide with relief, “I don't believe it”. She stated and took it from his hands, setting it firmly against the foot of the bed.

“After I was done in Muspelheim, I went back to the alley to retrieve it. I hope everything is still inside”, he explained, earning a genuine smile of gratitude from the little dancer.

“Thank you so much. I thought that by now someone must have stolen it. Thank you”, she kept mumbling more to herself than to Loki.

He half smiled at her excitement, but it soon faded, as he reminded himself of his necessary departure, “ With that settled, I shall leave you to your business”.

In truth, he longed to abandon this little box of an apartment. His days in the dungeons underneath the palace grounds on Asgard and those cursed images of the same white walls and small furniture every single day until Thor finally graced him with his presence, had build a strange aversion towards boxed spaces. They usually walked hand in hand with isolation, suffocation, anger and loss and he would rather bury those deep inside than let them stroll about his mind, bringing him into a panic state bit by bit.

“Wait, please”, Andrea suddenly said, thankfully snapping him out of the horrid reliving of things he'd rather forget, “We never discussed what would happen if I refused your offer...”.

He eyed her curiously, as she tugged at her sleeves and bit her lower lip nervously. Truth been told, he hadn't given that possibility much thought. But should that event take place, there was only one thing he could do.

“ I shall leave you alone, little dancer”, he stated, unable to keep the bit of consternation out of his voice, “ I shall never bother you again. You will be...”, he struggled to say the next part and so he considered it a good idea to lighten it with a joke, “... free of my presence or divine intervention, I suppose”.

But Andrea didn't laugh. Instead she remained completely still, struggling with herself, struggling with his words.

“It's everything or nothing, right?”, she asked, but her voice cracked and so she turned her head to the side to avoid his gaze, or to prevent him from seeing the tears that were about to spill from her eyes.

 _Never see you again?_ , she kept repeating to herself, as if it wasn't a decision, but a punishment. This was a bit cruel of him, but she couldn't blame him, because she herself was like this in more than one occasions. It was all in or all out. Mediocrity wasn't an option. Still, the thought of never seeing him again, never hearing him laugh or mock... it didn't bode well and her stomach had started to churn violently.

“It's everything you decide”, he said and turned around to leave, the suffocation from before returning tenfold.

“Wait”, Andrea exclaimed and placed her fingers on his forearm, but refrained from pulling him back to her. He looked to be at his breaking point. She couldn't push him beyond that, she was already hurting him enough.

This time, he didn't turn around to look at her, fists clenching and unclenching in a desperate attempt at control. He was burning up from the inner resistance not to turn around and take her back to his house by force. But he couldn't do that to her. She would hate him forever. She wouldn't look at him as a man who needed someone of his own, she would look to him and see a captor. It wasn't right and he knew it.

“How do I reach you? To tell you of my decision?”, she asked, her voice barely a whisper and her breath penetrating the fabric of his shirt and landing on his shoulder blade. Her hand was still touching his arm and that alone was torture enough, since he knew that it would be gone soon.

He turned his head to the side and replied, “ Say my name. I'll hear you”, and he reached behind to take her hand in his. He raised it to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles, as was their standard move. He felt her stiffen slightly, just before he let her hand drop back down, “ I always do”.

Without a final glance, he dissipated in a flash of green and gold, relieving himself from the suffocation, but not from the unexpected pain of goodbye.

 

 


	12. beautiful crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea spends a really tough week away from the God of Mischief and bluntly realizes the decision she has to make in order to find internal peace and safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everybody! Or good night, or good evening! Wherever you are in the world anyway! Here is chapter 12.   
> 1) warnings for this chapter: basic symptoms of post traumatic stress alongside with the worsening of a chronic nightmare condition and an anger management episode ( for Andrea it's like the one effects and activates the other and from there on it's like domino), strong language (I mean, a 'fuck' here and there, nothing you haven't seen before), mentions of non graphic masturbation, accidental and intentional injury.   
> 2) the song mentioned in the chapter is ''Beautiful Crime'', by Tamer. I suggest you listen to it, if you like, because it will give you the feels and engage you more with the heroine and what she's going through.   
> 3) the pictures you will encounter in the text are, if you don't get it, some ideas about Andrea's dress. This chapter is really sad and it hurt me while I wrote it, so I thought that popping some colour and some style in there would ease things. 
> 
> I hope you have a nice read! I know it is a heart clenching chapter and I know that it starts hopelessly, but I can assure you, things will get better very soon! Thank you so much for your reading, your comments and kudos! Chiao.

It was 3:00 in the morning and Andrea was sitting on the floor, her back against the hard foot of the bed and her head angled backwards, awkwardly resting on the mattress. With her throat exposed and stretched tight and the back of her neck bent for more than two hours, she was finding it quite hard to lift not just her head, but her whole body too. It was as if she had no strength, or as if the numbness in her brain had coursed downwards to the rest of her muscles, immobilizing them one by own, until she felt like she didn't even exist.

Going back to sleep was not an option, since her nightmares had graduated from intense, disturbing freakishness to Stephen King horror stories with the dreadful addition of a suffocation that began to develop at the base of her throat and rapidly moved upwards to choke her entire windpipe. She was still asleep when this process took place and the moment all oxygen had stopped evading her lungs, she'd woken up with cold sweat dripping down her forehead. It was like she could sense these four walls and the ceiling coming down on her, giving her the impression of being buried alive. Other times she felt like she was an astronaut, floating in space inside a suppressed metal tube with no sustenance or other familiar faces. Just she and the big, ugly monsters under her bed, loneliness and anger.

She put her earplugs in and selected a random playlist on her phone, allowing the liberating screaming of the guitars or the lonesome piano to consume her, as she made a mental list of all the ways she had tried to turn back to her life for the past seven days and of all the humiliating times she'd miserably failed.

After he had vanished in front of her eyes in his mysterious green and golden flashes, she had stared down at her hand, which was previously touching his lean forearm. It had been a weak attempt of her body to keep him with her, even though her mind had been screaming otherwise. But after he was gone, it had been just a weird body part, raised and held in mid air with no purpose or intent.

She had resisted the urge to crawl to a corner or on her bed and cry. Instead, she had suppressed the pent up tension from the conversation they had had mere minutes ago and, after having straightened her sweater and wiped the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, she had occupied herself with fixing the situation at her University.

After her phone had been sufficiently charged, she had called Miss Johnson and thankfully the woman had picked up immediately, saving Andrea from having to go through voicemail first. Her advisor had many international students under her watchful eye apart from her. If she had been stuck in a meeting with one of them when Andrea had called, then it would have been quite a lot of time before she would hear back from the woman.

“Yes, pneumonia. The lady that took care of me, Mrs Granzioni, had it confirmed as soon as she realised I couldn't speak. I don't know if you can hear it through the phone, but I still somewhat cannot”, she had lied, intentionally making her voice lower and gruffer, after Miss Johnson had asked the specifics of her condition, “Silly me, it is December and I went out without a scarf”.

“Oh well, it was reckless Andrea. Please note that the climate in Scotland is very different than the climate you were used to back in your country and be more careful the next time. Your teachers had me indescribably worried when they told me you hadn't showed up in class”, the woman on the line reprimanded.

“I know, I know. I cannot express how sorry I am for having you all so worried. It will not happen again Miss Johnson, I promise. Mm, can I ask something? Have I... have I missed any important stuff on my course? Do you know?”, she had made an attempt to change the subject as she wasn't in any particular mood to get chastised for events that in truth, hadn't even happened.

“No, no. I have e-mailed you a report of all the things that you missed, including your teachers' notes. They will help you familiarise yourself with the subjects. None of it was extremely important though, apart from the introduction to Hamlet in your Shakespeare module. Mr Stein was really sad you weren't there to give first impressions”, she informed and made Andrea's heart sink like an overloaded boat.

“Oh no, and I was looking forward to a tragedy. I will personally apologize to Mr Stein and make up for everything I have missed, as soon as I get better”.

And so they had kept talking for a while. Miss Johnson had been briefing her on study material for the week to come and Andrea had been getting sad and upset over all the lovely things she had missed, not believing that her classes had covered so much in just two days times.

Just before the ending of the phone call she had announced that she would be absent for only a few more days , which the advisor didn't support at all, but Andrea had successfully convinced her that her fever hadn't gone down completely and she was scared that an exposure to the cold outside could worsen her state and have her bed ridden once more.

After Miss Johnson had reluctantly agreed on that, she had advised Andrea to at least keep up with her classes online and hadn't failed to bring up the important matter of her first trimester essay, which would be graded as if it was a dissertation and define her progress on the course. Andrea had preferred that way of assessment over the timed exams or the oral presentations. She couldn't afford all that stress.

When she had finally hung up, she had moved on sending some other course work she had done the previous week, by email, briefly informing her teachers of the reasons why she hadn't been able to send it in earlier, although she was certain that Miss Johnson would explain the situation to them in one of her blunt and professional reports.

When all that was done, procrastination had kicked in, preventing her from sitting down to fill in all the work she had been assigned to do for the week to come, but thankfully she wouldn't have to worry about it, since they weren't due to until five days before the University closed for Christmas. There was plenty of time to take it slow. And she would surely have a lot of time for the dissertation too.

And yet, despite that freedom of time, she felt fidgety and was too hyperactive to just sit down and do nothing. So, after taking a shower and taking off her gauzes, wondrously realising that her scars were gone, just like Loki had said, she cleaned the entire apartment without pausing, not even for food. She had been desperate to do something practical, something with her hands and the specific activity had been the first thing that came to mind.

And she had kept doing it for every single day of the past week, until she was so exhausted and empty that sleep overtook her with ease, only for a nightmare to disturb her intensely enough and force her awake after one or two hours of rest. It had served as a constant reminder that his sweater wasn't helping. It had actually, for the first two nights, but after that, nothing. His smell had faded and it had become just a regular black sweater that she insisted on wearing, refraining from washing it, out of fear that it would lose all of his essence.

In the mornings, she had kept waking up with an irrational irritability and exhaustion that twisted her stomach. She had maniacally insisted on drinking only coffee, bitter and with no sugar, because she had thought that it would help her not to fall asleep. She had accompanied cup after cup with a slice of French toast and the meds that kept her away from having an episode of uncontrollable anger. She would still feel it though, boiling in her chest like lava, ready to escape in the form of a scream or a punch, like a caged animal. It had kept fooling her, pretending that it was about to consume her, but it never did. It had tortured her and laughed at her to the point where she had started laughing back at it.

And when it had become too much, she hadn't been above pleasuring herself, just for the sake of feeling a little better for two flitting seconds. She had caressed herself, touched her body, ran her hands up and down her open thighs, trying to bring back the feel of his fingers tending to her, so close to where she had really wanted to be touched. More often than not, she had stood in front of the mirror, naked and exposed and had placed her hand on her belly, pretending that he was standing behind her with his body pressed hard against hers, emanating that magical warmth that had rendered her raw, boneless, senseless. But then she would let the hand drop and her eyes would open, only to find that she was alone in the room. Before the tears would spill, she would nudge her legs open and tease the aching flesh, but there was never any release. She had been too tense and stressed to let go and usually ended up having a cold shower to wash away the sweat and calm the irritation she felt down there.

With the frustration being so great, she had decided to go out of the house, not once but twice, both out of need to connect with the outside world and get some new groceries, yet unfortunately for her, both attempts had turned into a nightmare. When it had ceased raining relentlessly, she had dressed and headed out, optimistic that everything would run smoothly.

The first time, she had decided to go to the supermarket, because she had next to no ingredients in the fridge or in the cupboards. Some milk, meat, beans and pasta, would be enough to fill her stomach for the next few days as she was planning on getting back to her 'three day meals' routine.

She hadn't walked far away from the apartment block she lived in, when suddenly she heard loud laughter coming from somewhere distant. With a suspicious glance over her shoulder, she had seen a company of three men, dressed in blue business suits and with brief cases in their hands, walking casually down the street and joking about something that had obviously been too funny. They were patting one another on the shoulder, the way men use to communicate feelings and certainly hadn't even noticed her on the pavement, as they strode away, past her. But that didn't stop the anxiety and the dreadful memories of drunkenness and torn clothes to get a rough grip on her with their claws and make her run away, scared and panicking like a crazy person.

By the time she had reached the front door of the tall building, she was crying and panting and had been clutching at her chest tightly, as if her heart had somehow escaped from her body and she was desperately trying to put it back. She had gone upstairs and had locked herself in, sitting on the floor with her head bent between her knees and consequently, starving her body near faintness.

After a couple of hours, she had relaxed a bit and so had managed to go to the liquor store by the street corner and buy some crackers, a bag of chips and a bottle of milk to hopefully ease the emptiness in her growling stomach.

 _Wow, Andrea, very adult of you,_ she had chastised herself while gulping down the milk, before delving into the chips like the fat five year old in front of the TV.

The second time she went out it had been to get a cappuccino from Three Cinnamon Sticks. It hadn't been an easy decision though to do so and she had needed more than just her general determination to step foot outside her apartment, especially after the panic attack she had gone through recently.

The previous night, she had sat down decisively and written in an old black notebook every single thing that had happened to her, everything that she felt, everything from Loki's offer, to the attempted rape, to how she couldn't deal with being alone any more, to the ridiculous text message the manager had sent her, saying that she was fired for not showing up to work for the last few nights. When she had read that one, she had almost laughed hysterically. _You throw me like a piece of meat at a client's feet, without my consent and you actually expect me to come back crawling?_ , she had thought derisively.

And so, by the time she had reached the coffee shop and waited in line to order, she had been feeling a little lighter and like the day had started out okay. But then it had all fallen to ruins, as it happens in all good tragedies.

As she was about to say the lovely words, “ _a cappuccino please, sweet and with cinnamon_ ”, to the woman who tended at the front, she spotted two people entering the place with the corner of her eye. She had turned around, not sure what she would see, but having a deep unsettling feeling at the pit of her stomach.

Sam had come in the shop with an arm wrapped around a girl's shoulders. He had looked extremely pale to her and was surely sleep deprived. His gaze seemed haunted and he kept making a pained expression with his brows and lips, as if even walking was torture, something that filled her with a bit of twisted joy. But then the memories of that night at the alley had come back, leaving a familiar feeling of panic and despair in their path.

 _Did you fuck him? Laufeyson? Did you give it to him nice and dirty?_ , she had suddenly remembered and had flinched violently, a strangled gasp escaping her lips.

“Miss, are you going to order? There's people waiting”, the girl at the cashier had said, but Andrea hadn't been paying attention. She had kept staring at Sam and the young female at his side, until she couldn't take it any more and had fled the coffee shop like a mad woman.

As soon as she had found the nearest alley, she had collapsed behind a dumpster and had begun to sob as quietly as possible, so as not to be heard by any passer bys, but she couldn't control herself that well.

A couple had found her, not a long time after, and had tried to help her, but Andrea hadn't been able to listen to them. She had been locked away in her own mind, reliving how they had ripped Loki's coat like savage animals and how they had hit her to get what they wanted. So, when the woman and the man in front of her had tried to lift her up, she had snapped back to reality immediately, because she had thought that those foolish, mindless animals were there with her, touching and probing her without her consent.

“Don't touch me! Get away from me!”, she had shouted at their faces, before getting up and running away, once again.

Returning to her apartment had been torture that day. The cars on the street had been too noisy. The little bells the cyclists rang to get her out of their way, too loud. People walking and conversing around her, had confused and distracted her from her path. It had been a miracle that she had made it back in one piece. And when she had crossed the threshold and had locked up behind her, she had slipped on the small mat of bills and had ended up on the floor. She hadn't had the courage to get up and so she had remained there, on the hard surface and using the papers as a pillow, had slept there, pessimistically waiting for Loki to come, pull her in his arms and tuck himself under the covers next to her. She didn't remember how many times she had mumbled ''little dancer'', mimicking that very special accent of his, before finally closing her eyes.

It had been absurd and utterly unrealistic how her life had gone to hell in just a week's time and as she had thought it through, over and over again, a weak laugh escaped her lips, which wasn't by far, the normal way to react to such a development. But, it all felt detached and empty, now that he wasn't around to mock human ways or talk seductively about her omelettes, or give her that cocky grin which meant that he knew how wet she was for him.

How had this man managed to get under her skin so effectively and quickly? How had he managed to affect her like this? Who? Her! With her iron determination and strong, unbreakable spirit? Was he playing her with his magic? Had he gotten her under some kind of Stockholm Syndrome spell and so she couldn't survive a minute without him? No, of course not. He wasn't the one who had tried to force himself on her, have his way and ruin her. He had helped her, saved her, treated her with tenderness and respect, given her a bed to rest, food to eat, and clothes to wear. He had wrapped her in his arms when she had needed it the most, without caring that he was basically a stranger to her.

Had it been a mistake? This time she had asked of him? This time to think things through? What if he suffered as much as she did right now, at this very moment, and she was to blame for it?

“Hmm...”, she sang to herself as she sat on the floor, at the foot of her miserably lonely bed, listening to an awfully heartbreaking song, in an attempt to force the thoughts of him out of her mind. But they just kept coming back, like waves of guilt.

“... _if you could understand... that I can barely breathe...the air is thin, I fear the fall and where we'll land_...”. She was losing the battle against her own self, trying to figure out why she couldn't go back to how things used to be.

“... _when the sun sets we're both the same... half in the shadows... half burned in flames_...”. Why did all those things like going to University, studying, cooking, finding a fucking job, maintaining an apartment and looking fresh and respectable weren't coming back to her like they should?

“... _each breath I left behind... each breath you take is mine... walking on the line ten stories high, fear the fall, you're asking... why_...”. She kept muttering , her voice a bit shaky and her temples a little itchy. There was fucking life beyond him and his stupid offer, so why couldn't she just live it?

“... _I have to make an end so we begin_...”. Not a chance to see him again, just glance at him for a moment? To freeze in front of him on the stage while struggling to dance with some fucking dignity. A stutter from her lips, a smirk from his own, something, anything.

“... _this darkness is the-_ FUCK”, she hissed and threw the phone at the wall, before burying her fingers in her hair, twisting them as she growled. And then she snapped.

With a shrieking scream, she got up and went to the kitchen, the expression on her face blank and unreadable. Nearly ripping apart the cupboard, she took the plates out one by one and started breaking them at the edge of the sink, the blood pumping fiercely against her temples, her temperature rising rapidly, as if she was in battle. Each broken sound, brought her unimaginable, yet short lived peace. Moving on to the cups and glasses, she threw them in couples at the bathroom door and would have certainly kept going if she hadn't cut herself with a shard that rested a few inches by the sink. Wincing from the pain, she had taken a step back, cradling her injured hand to her chest and leaned on the table close to the wall. She breathed deeply, still growling every time she exhaled, and seeing that pain helped, as it had so many times before, she began to hit the back of her head rhythmically against the stony surface, until it became too numb and she could no longer feel the sweet, satisfying thumps on the base of her scalp.

Still shuddering, out of breath and slightly dizzy from the continuous hitting she had inflicted upon herself, she clumsily moved to the bathroom to take care of her sliced up hand that was now bleeding seriously.

Stumbling into the door, in a daze from the stingy, itchy sensation of the cut, she poured as much water as she could on it and then shot it with extreme amounts of pure alcohol, hissing from the effect it had on her injured skin, but enjoying every minute of it nonetheless. She bandaged it carefully and refrained from flexing it too much, so as to not initiate the bleeding again.

With a deep breath, she turned her eyes to the mirror and stared at her reflection for what seemed like ages, until she had to turn her gaze away because of the creepiness of it. _This needs to stop, I can't go on like this_ , she had miserably thought, feeling no small amount of self pity. As she inspected her frenzied state, she considered carefully that she hadn't struggled through all of last year just to come here and be the same mess she had been back home.

She had gone briefly to her desk and retrieved the scissors from her stationary, then returned to the mirror in the bathroom and began to cut her locks to half of their current length. She threw strand after strand into the sink, pretending that each one was a different reason why she couldn't surrender to him. The sound from the sharp little blades colliding against each other was almost pleasurable to her ears and had brought some kind of closure.

When she was done, she took another inspecting look at herself in the mirror and was more than pleased with what was left of her. Now her dark hair were wavy, since the heavy locks had been cut off, and reached just a little below her ears. She ran her hands through it and when she brushed it back, she noticed that they were slightly fluffier than before and gave her a boyish outlook, something which she liked a lot, since she was always into unisex hairstyles. They also showed off her long neck, which was definitely an advantage. She looked more carefree and elegant than before and even though the bush that she called “hair”, had certainly kept its original messiness, she had to admit that she had never felt more composed in her life.

 

She proceeded in cleaning her skin with masks, plucked her eye brows as they had gone wild in the past days, brushed her teeth, put on a little bit of make up and her favourite soft lipstick and slipped into new clothes. Her grey, cashmere jumper dress fell beautifully an inch below her knee and tied around the waist with a ribbon that was loosely attached on her middle. She hadn't worn it since she had left home and now that she was eyeing it for the first time after so long, it looked brand new.

Putting the house in order, for the last time, was next on her list of things to do. She cleaned everything, metaphorically licked every surface and object in the tiny apartment, ignoring the discomfort from her hand every time the skin stretched just a little too much.

She took the trash out, all three bags, and when she got back up to the apartment, she began to pack all of her personal belongings in her airport hand luggage, her bigger size suitcase and in her emerald backpack. Since she didn't own many things, it wasn't even a challenge to fit everything in those three.

The only problem was her collection of books, which had grown in number quite a bit since she had come to Edinburgh. She managed to put some of them into her backpack and a few on her larger suitcase, but the rest she placed on the bed, one on top of the other and just hoped that Loki could somehow snap his fingers and transport them by magic.

By the time she was done, it was six in the afternoon and so, worn out and practically begging for some respectable sleep, she sat down on the floor and rested herself against the foot of the bed, assuming the position she had previously been in and closed her eyes just for a bit.

She didn't know how much time had passed since she had done that, for when she opened her lids again, the sky was pitch black.

Leaning her head back and stretching out her arms and legs, she let out a deep breath, a half smile breaking out on her face at the thought of him.

“Loki”.

 


	13. point break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki tries to cope alone in his penthouse, away from the only person he actually likes, whilst thinking how best to do justice by her. The people that almost raped her paid a great price, but the ones that mistreated her at Valhalla still remain unpunished. Someone very familiar, from Loki's past is summoned to help with the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and thank you for your patience. Another Thursday is here, another chapter is ready! Hang in there, because the next one, meaning the one after this, will practically seal the deal between our two characters (not seal the deal sexually, but we're getting there too). This chapter is so small that it makes me feel weird. Nothing like the monster chapters I usually write. But, it is what it is. Enjoy!!  
> 1) warnings: strong language as always, sex fantasy (or better: blow job fantasy), masturbation (my God, I hope I didn't fuck that one up), physical and oral threats upon a person's life and... the sweetest kind of character development for Loki. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking around and for liking the story. Thank you for your devotion, your kudos and your comments! Love ya, even if I don't know ya.
> 
> ** Something irrelevant that I wanted to ask you all. Have you got a face for Andrea in your minds? Like, when you read the chapters where Andrea is, for example, doing expressions with her face or dresses herself, do you have a picture of her? In chapter 3 I have given her full facial description through Loki's eyes, but has it stuck in your heads? Who do you imagine her as? Do you have in your mind an actress perhaps? Do you imagine yourselves? I wouldn't be mad if you did! I do it all the time with fanfics I read! If you'd like to offer your opinion I would definitely appreciate it! Tell me in the comments...

Loki hadn't been able to sleep over the past week. He was restless and kept tossing from side to side in short intervals, desperate to find a position that felt at least a bit comfortable, but so far, he had been unsuccessful.

Her weight on the bed was no longer present. Her smell had evaporated, even though he had instructed Mrs Granzioni to not dare change the sheets, and each breath he let out felt like a waste, since it had no beautiful neck to land on. He was being stupidly romantic, he knew that. His time amongst the human race was probably to blame for such softness and obsession over a flimsy little mortal girl who happened to dance well. _A mesmerizing, sadistically strong creature that dances only for you_ , his heart corrected him and he could do nothing but sigh in acknowledgement.

“Oh fuck...”, he muttered and rubbed his face with his hands, as he sensed the first stirrings of arousal, the tickling twitch of his cock against the bed covers. Merely the thought of her was enough to alarmingly excite him.

He got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower in hopes of relaxing both his frustrated mind and apparently needy body. But as the water ran down on his skin, sliding past his lower belly and loins and as the steams began to envelop him in their warmth, his mind drifted involuntarily back to her and the feel of her lovely body against his own as they slept the best sleep of their lives on his bed. It wasn't long before his imagination brought the little dancer to the shower, with him, to share the water and the hotness of nearness, amongst other things.

He leaned his head back on the tiled wall and as he closed his eyes, he saw himself opening them again in a state of dizzy dreaming and watched her, almost sleepily, as she stepped into the shower space, passing through the hot steams and coming to him, her body glistening with moisture, water droplets falling from her hair, eyes hungry and lips stretched into a primitive, predator smile, ready to sing a song that would sent him over the edge.

He took his cock in his hand and gave it a few experimental strokes and the moment he pictured her dropping to her knees in front of him, he hardened to perfection. The veins covering his entire shaft were pulsing wildly and his balls were heavy with arousal. That familiar heat of anticipation at the pit of his stomach and the burning sensation of the blood concentrating downwards were driving him insane with need.

Not being able to hold it back any longer, he continued pleasuring himself, drawing his hand up and down, almost aggressively, as he imagined how disarmingly beautiful she would look with her face shoved against him, her lips stretching widely and her throat relaxed and open to accommodate him better and take him deeper and deeper.

Thinking of her bobbing head, moving sensually, her mouth warming and wetting him deliciously, he felt ready to explode and so sped up his strokes and intensified the pressure of his grip, so much so that a guttural moan escaped from deep within his chest and echoed all around him in the shower, travelling through the steams and lingering on the moisturised walls.

With a final squeeze and a not so gentle caress over his balls, he came hard with an animalistic growl, the white ribbons of his cum decorating the shower floor for a bit, before going down the drain along with the water. And just like that, she was gone again.

He cleaned himself up thoroughly, leaving no traces of the activities of mere moments ago and after drying his body, slipped into comfortable clothes. The early night found him spread out on the couch, wide awake and alert.

He remembered that night, a full week ago, after he'd left her apartment, and gone back to his own. How he had wished he had looked at her lovely face at least one more time, instead of disappearing without a glance. But he had found it impossible to turn around and look at her when he knew that it could have most certainly been the last time. The goodbye. And he wouldn't, he couldn't put himself through that. He had decided to maintain a faint trace of hope in his cold heart that he would have the pleasure of seeing her again, of touching her, of talking to her about everything and anything.

He understood her decision for some time to think. It was more than evident how scared she was about everything happening so fast and he didn't consider her difficulty to open up and accept help as weakness, but as strength instead. He admired how calculating and careful she was with her steps, despite her young age. So mature and self-controlled. He could almost feel a little sorry for her, because he had something like a hunch that whatever had happened to her before Edinburgh had shaped her like so, and at the end of the day, he wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He wanted to see her other side. The one she didn't let out often. There was wildness in her and capacity for glorious mischief, but the experiences she had gone through recently had returned her to the cautious, intimidating panther he had seen from the beginning. Not that this side didn't please him greatly. Being cautious and cunning, like she was, could save her from a lot of trouble and in some sense he felt proud of her for having survived all this time on her own with only her wits as a weapon. But he yearned to see that glint in her eye again. That sense of abandon and loss of control that was so clear when she danced or when she was underneath him, being healed with magic, or when she was pushing him to talk at the breakfast table.

In the end, he longed for both her sides. The sweet, shy one he had conversed and sat with at the coffee shop and the one that danced like a snake under the music, struggling to balance itself between seduction and actual fury aimed at the ones who played the flute that controlled her.

Which was why he had focused on eliminating the people that had wronged her in that club and who had treated her like a common whore. He had hoped, and still hoped, that his latest actions might come across to her as a gesture of trust and a sign of protection. It meant nothing to him, whether this place would go down or not, but he wanted to do it anyway, because it could be meaningful to her. His feelings about the whole situation didn't matter.

After leaving her alone with her thoughts, he had concentrated on dealing with the issue in a delicate and discreet way. No matter how he wished he could barge in through the front door and make everyone in sight drown in their own blood, he knew that he had to approach the situation quieter and without raising suspicion upon his person. A massacre was far from a quiet measure.

“Avengers Compound, how may we be of service?”, a female voice had picked up the ear piece on the other end. His decision to call ''them'' had been executed with the utmost reluctance if he might add, but it had been a necessary course of action. They had access to people and services he did not.

“Get me my brother now”, he had ordered as calmly as he could.

“I'm sorry Sir, can you please state your name?”, the, oh so ignorant, secretary had inquired.

“Do not test my patience mortal. Get Thor on the phone”, he had insisted, “You know exactly who I am”.

“Can you state your location please?”, she had went on in the same calm tone, but he had been running out of patience sooner than was convenient.

“You have my location as well. Stark has had me under surveillance from the minute I stepped foot outside the Tower. Now, get Thor on the phone, before I teleport there and decide to play with the remnants of your dead body after I have impaled it to the reception desk you are currently sitting at”, he had hissed and hoped that the woman would understand that he wasn't in the mood for games.

There was a long period of silence and then a couple of incomprehensible whispers from the other side of the phone, before he heard the woman speak, but his time in the usual dead and distant tone agents used.

“Just a minute, Mr Laufeyson”.

Loki grinned widely, “ You have half”.

After a bit, Thor's voice boomed on the phone, “Loki, what is wrong with you? You cannot terrorize agents like this”.

Loki had only rolled his eyes before saying sternly, dismissing Thor's complaints entirely, “ Rooftop. Five minutes. I trust your... secretary, can provide you with the coordinates of my lodgings”.

And with that, he had hung up and headed upstairs to said meeting point.

When he had heard the first few thunders echoing in the distance and felt a couple of rain drops landing on his hands and forehead, he knew that his brother was close. Looking up, he had seen the greyness of the sky getting split in half by a great lightning, which started descending fast and struck just a few inches from where he stood.

He had taken a step back and covered his face with an arm as the light scorched his eyes and contorted his features in order to protect them. Thankfully, it didn't take long for Thor to assume shape and order the lightning away and soon, he stood in front of him in full battle armour and red cape flowing in the air behind him. One eye missing, just like dear old, thankfully dead, daddy.

Loki had smirked and cocked an eyebrow at him, before saying, “ And they say I am the one for dramatic entrances”.

Thor had laughed hard at that, “I do apologize, but without the hammer , I cannot control the lightning that well brother. It takes practice, you know this”.

“Yes indeed, but look how much I care”, he had retorted, his eyebrows raised slightly.

“Still sharp tongued I see. I've almost missed you”, he had said with a stupid smile on his face, “ so, what troubles you, brother?”.

The dark God had looked at him as if he had said the most insolent thing in the world before replying, sternly and with great urgency, “Nothing troubles me. And if that were the case I wouldn't call you. It shames me to say it but you are here simply because I...”, he took a breath, struggling to spit the words, “... I demand your assistance”.

Thor's eyebrows reached his hairline, “ Since when are you a team player?”.

“Since my way of dealing with the matter at hand involves torture, pain and slaughter and I cannot afford that, because you know very well that I have tried to change my ways in order to blend in with this pathetic excuse of a race”, he had answered then, his patience slipping through his fingers towards the end of the sentence.

Thor had simply stared at him for a second and then had given him an inquisitive once over. There was something different in Loki's demeanour, which he couldn't place, but for some reason, the Loki he had seen last time, two years ago, was not the same that stood in front of him, demanding help. This one was far more impatient and even the thought that he would actually call for help, when he was known to be reclusive by nature, was alarming to say the least. He wouldn't take it for granted though, since the God of Mischief had always been one for games and Thor knew that very well.

“What's the matter brother?”, he had said after a short moment of thought.

Loki hadn't responded immediately, but had instead turned his head towards the faint horizon, searching for the right words in the clouds.

“Does Stark have some kind of division in the Compound which deals with illegal recording of sexual activity in pleasure establishments?”.

The God of Thunder had tried to suppress his confused laugh, but had failed, “I... I'm not certain, but I can check it out for you. Why though? Are you planning on opening one and need advice from Stark?”.

Loki had shot him a death glare, “No, you fool. Quite the opposite”, and then an all too familiar glint of mischief had shined in his eye, “ I'm planning on shutting one down”.

And so he had begun to describe the situation at Valhalla, excluding of course all information about Andrea and her employment there. He had based his arguments, though, on various things he had seen happening in that place and on experiences he had seen her go through, not failing to mention the cameras on the private rooms or the violent behaviour of the person who had put them there in the first place. He was certain that Thor hadn't understood half of the legal terms he had been using, like molestation, pornography, prostitution, employment of underage individuals, but he knew by the look on his brother's face that he had comprehended at least the severity of the situation. That was until he decided to joke around, which had been a grave mistake.

“From your descriptions, it sounds like the perfect place for you”.

Loki had lost all patience then and so hadn't hesitated in producing one of his knives. He threw it at Thor with such vigour, that if his brother hadn't dodged it at the last minute he was sure it would have hit him in his still good eye.

“Are you mad?”, he had shouted with a half shocked, half amused expression on his face, which infuriated Loki all the more.

“This isn't a game Thor”, he had roared, “ Can you or can you not take the matter to Stark and your stupid friends and do something about it?”.

“Alright, alright, calm down, brother. I'll talk to the others to see if we can deal with it and even if we are not able, I'm sure Stark has contacts in the human authorities. The matter will be dealt with shortly, you have my word”, Thor had finally agreed, partly because the situation his brother had described was indeed disturbing and partly because he didn't want another knife aimed and thrown at him.

Loki though hadn't said anything else. Having simply nodded, he headed towards the door that led back downstairs to the penthouse, until Thor's voice stopped him.

“Loki why are you doing this? Why would you inform me of such a thing? And since when do you care about what humans do? The last time you were on Earth you had attempted to take over New York and subjugate its people and now you want to help? What changed, brother? ”.

He had remained silent for a couple of moments, before answering in a grave tone, “ So sentimental of you Thor. Attempting to appeal to my good natures. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not care what they do or why they do it or who they are. I merely assumed that you would want to know all about illegal activity happening right under your nose”, and then had turned around to open his arms in a dramatic gesture, “ Earth is under your protection, is it not? So, go do your saving and do not disturb me any further with your assumptions of change in my character”.

And with that, he had made to leave again, but before he had the chance to grab the door handle, he heard the oaf's voice yet again.

“ Is this for a woman?”.

Loki had stilled his body instantly, his jaw set tight and his temper about to erupt in tendrils of enraged seidr , “ It's none of your concern”.

“I'm just saying... you always had a soft spot for them”.

“I said...”, Loki had repeated himself as he turned around to glare daggers at the other man, “... it's none of your concern”.

Thor had only given him a little smile and a shake of his head, as if he already knew, despite Loki's protestations, refusals and threats.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. I will let you know if there are any news concerning what we discussed”, he had announced and Loki had only nodded again, practically begging to be left alone. He made for the door handle again, but Thor called after him for the third time.

“Brother?”.

“What now?”, he had said exasperatedly, turning around just in time to see Thor summoning the lightnings that would take him back to New York.

“Whoever she is, I hope she brings you peace”, and in a flash, he ascended to the sky, blinding his brother in the process.

After that short encounter, Loki's life had returned to how it was before he had made the offer to the little dancer, the only exception being that he no longer had the pleasure of seeing her at nights or randomly at the coffee shop. There was no reason for him to attend either of those places, since she wouldn't possibly go back to work and she most certainly wouldn't want to see him at the coffee shop and get all confused and flustered. He had willed himself after all, to not intervene in any way to the making of her decision.

He had kept quiet for those past few days. Talking was boring, even to Mrs Granzioni who visited him more regularly than usual, under the excuse that she was concerned for him. Other than that, he ate, he drank, he failed to fall asleep and was left with nothing to do but read, as a means of distracting himself from her absence. He had also made sure that his inner eye was expanded, his mind open at all times, just in case she called for him. His magic always available to take him to the only person he wanted to see.

But today, it was all too much and the penthouse felt lonelier than usual and as he was lying on the couch, struggling to make sense of the words on the old pages, something inside him snapped.

In sudden anger, he threw the book at the other side of the room and kicked at the coffee table with his foot, before burying his face in his hands, irritated, impatient and drained of energy to keep going.

But then, a voice inside his head made him shot up instantly, as if he had been electrocuted with bare wires.

“Loki”.

 


	14. acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea has made her choice and Loki is more than ready to take her with him, back to the penthouse, where they can begin sharing their lives and themselves anyway they see fit. But first, there are a few things that need to be discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings, I hope you're having a great day. I'm here to make it better. Chapter 14, ladies and gentlemen. The chapter in which, finally, things fall together for the couple. But first, I have a few announcements to make. 
> 
> First of all, there will be no warnings mentioned in the notes any more for each chapter. I am going to clear out and fix the tag section above and add to it as the story evolves. I will be doing this for two reasons. 1) because I haven't figured out yet where this story is going and so having tags up there on display and hoping that they will happen at some point just doesn't seem right to me and it's not fair, I believe, to the readers 2) I don't really believe that people here on the Archive actually take the time to read the notes and that's totally fine, sure, but yeah. Everyone goes straight ahead to the juicy stuff. So what's the point of me explaining in the comment section, why I included this picture and why I warned there is going to be fluff or angst and stuff... I mean, we are Archive subscribers because we sort of... go after that stuff. Creative stories with our favourite characters from different Universes and OCs that blow our minds and take us to their fascinating journeys. So, I don't feel any more like there's any need for me to explain neither the warnings and my reasons for including the warnings, neither myself. And besides, all that takes up too much space here, in the notes section, and I don't think anyone appreciates it, so I'm stopping it. If you have any questions concerning the chapters, feel free to ask me directly in the comments. I always answer. (I'm sort of dying for your attention, lol). So from now on, tags are above and only extremely important stuff are mentioned in the notes. One of these really important stuff, which you'll encounter in this chapter, has to do with anger management issues. There are mentions and vague explanations from both my characters and I just want to say that nothing you'll read here is baseless or made up. I have researched into the particular kind of issue and the extents it can reach. These are actually things that can happen to a sufferer and especially one that experiences the issue as strongly as Andrea. Having Loki experience issues like that is my own invention. In the MCU, Loki is not a sufferer, although he goes through rage and pain that come pretty close to having control problems. I chose to have him experience them, in his past of course, centuries ago, when he was still very very young, because I wanted to have a solid base, something familiar, something that my characters share and something that enables them to be a little more intimate with each other since they are going through the same thing. Or one of them is and the other has mastered impeccable control. The medication mentioned may or may not be valid, since each case of anger management is different and therefore is dealt with in different manners according to severity and personal struggle and even linked biological reasons. 
> 
> Pictures are borrowed from the web (found by me on pinterest) and therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. The picture with the woman is the closest to Andrea's facial description that I managed to find. (I wish the hair was short, like my OC's, but that's okay. At least they are wavy, like Andrea's new look). Just in case you were wondering who's that next to our beloved Loki. Oh, yeah. That's the couple folks. I've decided. 
> 
> Thank you and have a good day and a nice read! Kisses, hugs and rock n' roll!

 

 

 

“Loki”.

He paced up and down the length of the small living room, questioning whether or not he had heard correctly. Could it actually be her? After seven days? Perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him. Perhaps not. There was only one way to find out.

Despite the doubts he nurtured that insanity had gained hold of his brain after this long and tiresome wait, he closed his eyes and disappeared in the green and gold.

When he opened them again, he saw her. She was sitting down on the floor with her back against the foot of the bed. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and locked at the ankles. Her head was resting on the mattress, forcing her white, swan like neck on full display. She was wearing a beautiful grey dress, which although casual and modest, made her look ten times more ravishing than he remembered her. Her features were frozen, her lips and eyes firmly shut, as if she was asleep. She seemed calmer and more relaxed in his presence, something that filled him with satisfaction and relief for it didn't used to always be so.

Then, she turned her head to the side and eyed him up and down with a bizarre mixture of curiosity and familiarity gleaming in her wide green globes. He held that peculiar gaze for as long as it was directed towards him, a warm, tingly feeling torturing him at the pit of his stomach.

A voice inside him advised not to move or to speak first. It told him to wait for her reactions before allowing his own to show, as his, would be too impatient and needy and she might interpret that as his coming here was simply to satisfy his curiosity and get the answer he had been waiting for for a week. He didn't wish to come across like that. He was indeed genuinely happy to see her again, to smell her scent in the air, to be in such close proximity. He could surely wait just a few more moments, even if his heart was jumping impatiently trying to break through his skin and reach her.

And he was right to do so, because just then she spoke in a welcoming and quiet tone, “ Sit with me”. She emphasized the invitation by flapping a hand on the mattress behind her, indicating for him to come sit next to her head.

Loki didn't need to be told twice. He approached her with slow confident steps and then sat down where she wanted him. That was when he noticed the three stacks of books and her overstuffed backpack placed on the mattress. Looking past those, a small smile found its way to his lips as he saw two suitcases by the bed. Was she ready indeed? Would she come with him? He didn't say a word. He simply waited for her instructions, her orders, responses, whatever she was willing to give him at her own pace.

He watched her as she lifted her head and stared forward at the wall in silence. Although it was half dark in the room he noticed a slight difference in her hair, which intrigued him. They were a lot shorter than before and her curls seemed substantially wavier than he remembered them, although they still had that outlook of messiness and complete disorganisation.

“Did you cut your hair?”, he said, surprised by how soft his voice sounded.

She graced him with a quick glance and a little smile, hanging from the corner of her lip, before nodding positively, “Do you like them?”.

He smiled widely, but he wasn't sure she saw it, “ They are beautiful, little one”. And he meant it. The new look made her neck appear much longer and added even more to her already bold features, creating the perfect balance between elegance and abandon.

Suddenly, the urge to touch it overtook him and before he knew what he was doing, his finger was twisting a lock around. It was so soft and loose that all he wanted to do was to bury his face in the entirety of her hair and feel them against his skin. But he settled for picking up more strands of it and playing with them in silence. It felt childlike and certainly not like something he would ever do, but she brought a sense of playfulness out of him that he hadn't experienced since he was a youth. He reminisced how he often used to play with all the maids in the palace, both innocently and intimately. It was all coming back to him now. All the secret whispers at dinners, all the chase around the gardens, all the sweet promises he made so that they would join him in bed. It seemed like so much time ago.

As he was lost in his thoughts, he didn't expect it when Andrea leaned into his touch, urging him for more, like a content cat about to purr in bliss. He grinned wickedly, half trying to assess why she suddenly felt freer and half not caring at all, simply accepting and enjoying it as their new status.

When he buried his fingers inside that wild dark bush and began to massage her scalp, fisting his hand from time to time, she let out a relieved sigh and dropped her head back for more. Her eyelids were closed and her lips slightly parted to allow shallow breaths to escape.

They stayed like that for a few moments. Not talking. Just listening and feeling each other's presence around them. It was fulfilling, Loki had to admit and it was intimate in ways that confused him as much as they intrigued him. Even though he was aching to get an answer, a final one from her lips, not an assumption he made, he didn't mind getting it right now, or tomorrow, or the day after that, provided that they would remain in this position and breathe deeply one another's scent with the only sounds being the little noises of their stilled bodies.

“I have issues you know”, she broke the silence after a while, shifting her head a bit, though not out of his reach, “In my head, or at least that's what the doctor said”.

It was evident that she wanted to talk about it, whatever it was. He could see the need and the necessity inside her head, even though there weren't actual thoughts that he could read, only feelings that suggested urgency and... trust. He wasn't about to lose this opportunity to know her deeper and so he continued rubbing her head soothingly in hopes of relaxing her into spilling a little more information.

“Talk to me about it, little dancer”, he cooed and felt her breath hitch in her throat, although he wasn't sure why. Perhaps she had missed the sound of her darling name, or so he liked to think.

“I don't know if you have heard of the term before, but doctors mainly call it 'anger management'. I have the worst kind. It comes in episodes, like... one minute I'm normal, the next I lose it”, she stated and he would lie if he said that he wasn't a little worried about the lack of emotion in her voice.

“Do you turn green and smash everything in your path?”, he asked jokingly and was relieved when he heard her chuckle.

“Something tells me you are referring to Doctor Banner. Don't worry, I will not make you one with the floor”, she informed, her previous laugh still lingering in her voice, before evaporating completely. When she spoke again, the same blunt tone had returned, making his heart go colder, “ Usually I smash myself”.

As much as he wanted to lighten the mood and ask if the whole world knew about his humiliating encounter with Banner, what she had said last roused worry and a sort of contained panic in him and he instantly knew that this was no time for joking. She needed to talk about this severely and so he would oblige, although he could barely bear her voice being so cold.

“What do you mean by that?”, he inquired smoothly, although pictures of him ruining everything there was to be found inside the cell came to his mind like a tidal wave, ready to crash him against the rocks. He tried to match some of his reactions to hers, as a way of understanding her problem before she voiced it. Well, she had been extremely upset the night he had followed her here unbeknownst to her. And it was true that she had taken care of the two men who had assaulted her in the club and had caused them a lot of righteous damage. When he had approached her behind the counter, she had been trembling from an adrenaline rush that could only be associated with warriors in battle, not anger. And lastly, going back to his time in Muspelheim with her almost rapists, he had noted a dislocated shoulder, two bleeding noses and one set of extremely purple balls and that was before he had begun his own ministrations.

His thoughts were instantly confirmed by her answer, “ I have a predisposition to violence, but it doesn't last long. Usually it's just my temples pulsing with blood and my veins itch and there is a terrible headache afterwards. I have to be... I have to feel... threatened or very stressed for the violence to sort of commence. That's how they described it to me. But what they didn't say...”, she paused for a minute and looked out the window, not really seeing anything, “... is how much I would like it. To hurt... others and myself”, she waved about her hand and that's when he noticed the bandage on it. It was bloodied at the centre, “ I take pills for it though. Mostly Valium to keep me calm and... civilized. Sometimes they work just fine but other times...”, she paused again and turned her head to the side, but not looking at him, “... I guess the monster is much stronger”.

He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, absorbing her words painfully and thinking how best to console her, how best to make her feel safe and wanted, things that no one had given to him when he was younger and was going through his own temperamental issues, for he had simply told nobody. He didn't have a name for it back then and wasn't aware of anyone else having it and so he had thought that it was just a fault in his code. Over time, he had learned to control it to perfection and no one ever noticed, not even his mother. He was just that good with illusions. Until the truth had come out and...

Without wanting to, the grip he had on her hair tightened and when he opened his eyes she was looking at him with furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes.

“Pain helps, does it not?”, he asked then, pushing back his own thoughts.

She huffed knowingly, “ Of course it does. It's like a drug”, and she went back to staring at the wall.

He reached down and carefully took her hand in his and she let him. He unwrapped the rough cotton from around it and inspected the cut in order to decide how much of his magic would heal it completely.

“What triggers you?”, he asked as a means of distracting her.

She shrugged, “ Many things actually. Waiting for a long time, in a line for example, stress, noise, yes, especially noise, human stupidity-”.

At that he chuckled almost maliciously and she joined in, “ That makes two of us”, and then added in a calmer tone, “ What else?”.

“Sometimes the nightmares I have, their intensity. Hm, I think certain moves, like bending my head down to tie my fucking shoe laces. All the blood comes rushing down on my temples and my skin feels hot and that irritates me... even the simplest things really. That's why I left my vans back home”, she answered, chuckling to herself, before returning to staring at the void.

He hummed his understanding, and placed his palm flat where the small, but deep cut rested. He pushed his seidr out of his body into her own and watched as her head dropped back, her body trembling magically at the foot of the bed due to the warmth he knew she was feeling. He couldn't help but grin at her reactions, only now realising how he had missed her short rapid breaths and contended sighs as he did his magic on her.

As he withdrew the heat waves slowly and steadily and she gained her senses back, he bend down and took her chin between his fingers. He turned her head on the side, enough to meet her gaze. She obliged immediately, almost as if her body knew how to comply under his touch, even in such short amount of time.

He smirked, confident that she would get the meaning of his words, “ Memories, Stark, a recent addition actually”, he scoffed, “assumptions, small or empty spaces and, like you so correctly said, human stupidity. There you have it”.

She stared at him with wide eyes, because it had taken her less than a second to realise what he was talking about. There was worry in her features, as she began to glance around nervously, her lips twitching or quivering, as if she wanted to say something.

“Small...”, and looked around again in panic, “... small plac-. Loki, I didn't know, we would have-. I'm sorry. Are you okay?”, she mumbled and made to rise from her position on the floor, but he simply laid his hands on her shoulders and sat her back down again.

“Darling, do not fret”, he assured her, noting how quickly she had again foregone her own safety and well being in order to secure someone else's. His own. The gesture made him both honoured and a bit worried, but he would dismiss it for the time being. Instead, he buried his fingers in her hair and started to soothe her with caresses, like before, as he explained, “I am more than two centuries old, Andrea. Do you really believe I consider it an issue any more?”

She nodded negatively, looking at him behind her shoulder, “I guess not, but...”, she took a deep shaky breath, “I just... sorry, I panicked. You're just... really, the calmest person, at least when you're around me. But, I guess Gods get angry too, right?”.

“Oh, you have no idea”, he commented and she smiled reassuringly up at him, leaning into his hand at the same time.

“ Will you help me? Keep it asleep? Or... control it when it's out?”.

“With pleasure”, he responded, his voice stern, so that she could understand that he was serious about it and didn't treat the matter lightly.

She let out a sigh and turned her head forward again, as he continued to play with her hair. She soon relaxed completely under his touch and silence fell between them once again. Each breath she took lulled him into a blissful daze of nothingness. Minutes passed and he was sat there wondering how even the absence of her voice soothed him so and how the silence wasn't uncomfortable but shared and treasured. They often didn't need words to communicate, he knew that, not only because he could read her mind, but also because they had a connection. It was such new a thing. An otherworldly experience, scary even, but he enjoyed it and didn't want it to end.

“Loki?”, she called then and his head snapped down towards her. His name had been voiced a little wobbly and he wasn't sure he was going to like whatever followed.

“Tell me”, he cooed.

She took a deep breath and when the first words left her mouth, the unfortunate image of a terrified child somehow found its way to him mind.

“Will you... will you make me strip, while I dance?”.

It broke his heart. Her tone, her question, her need to make sure. It was inexplicable, but his chest tightened in disappointment as he realised that the idea, the image of a naked dance appalled her so much that she would ask him directly if he was going to force her into it. He couldn't blame her for thinking like this though. Having worked at a place where her youthful breasts had earned her money, she didn't know what to expect from men. And as much as he would want to see her surrender to her own bare self, writhing under the music for his eyes only, he knew that he couldn't demand it of her. If he did, he would be no different than those pigs, the manager and his lackey, the presenter.

“Andrea, look at me”, he ordered in a matter-of-fact voice and waited until she willingly met his eyes.

When she did turn her head upwards, he bent down once again and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, giving her a light squeeze to make sure he had her attention.

“I will never force you to do anything you do not wish to do, unless of course you ask it of me. I'd like to believe that when I presented you with this offer I made it quite clear that your dancing pleasures me in ways that perhaps you do not understand yet”, he paused, his eyes darting between her eyes and lips suggestively, “ It's either that, or you are teasing me on purpose with your ignorance... and with your sensual hips. Just for the fun of it”.

He let her go then and leaned back, watching her closely as she tried to compose herself and shove away the effect his words had on her. He didn't give her much time to catch her breath or cool the heat off her cheeks, before adding sternly, “ You will dance for me, little one, but in whatever manner you desire, in whatever attire you see appropriate and to the music you enjoy. Am I understood?”.

She nodded quickly, but then averted her eyes again. He sensed hesitation in that movement and so he decided to press her. Of course he could just penetrate the shell of her mind and find out for himself, but then he wouldn't have the chance to put her at ease. And he knew that she needed some kind of reassurance, for her heart was beating like a war drum and her neck was tense under his touch.

“There's something else on your mind. Tell me”.

A moment later, she found the courage to voice her thoughts in a tremulous voice, “ Will I have to... please you... in any other way?”.

There was no expression in his face for a bit and perhaps that unnerved her, but he was struggling with the correct answer to her question. Did this woman seriously not realise how arousing and at the same time disturbing was that sensual innocence of hers?

In the end, he knew that avoiding the question was probably the best way to proceed. She wasn't ready yet, and he was aware of it. But to tell her that he didn't want her for the endless pleasure they could draw from each other's bodies? That would be a lie.

“Little dancer, you are simply the woman I wish to exist in the same space with, with whatever that entails, today, tomorrow or in a month. Let us leave it at that”.

“And what will we be?”, she pressed, seemingly not convinced by his reply.

“Do we have to give it a name?”.

“If it, we, us, don't have a name, then how will we know what it is?”, she kept pushing. The conflict inside her was tangible.

“We don't have to voice it to acknowledge its presence. You know this. You've known it from the minute we saw one another”.

“So... no labels? At least until we are ready...”, she suggested, turning to gaze up at him.

He smirked his agreement, “Precisely”.

“But we could be... anything. What if we get confused? Lost?”, she whispered.

“We have the capacity to be anything we want, indeed. When we'll feel it, we'll know it. Titles are unnecessary. It is them that confuse people most of the time, little dancer”, he answered truthfully and watched her nod slowly.

Then she turned around, assuming her previous position and leaned her head back on the mattress, closing her eyes for a couple of moments.

Observing her newly serene face, Loki couldn't resist brushing the loose strands of hair away from her nose and eyes, thinking to himself that not in a million years would he have imagined himself capable of such affection and self control when it came to carnal pleasures. But she was special and for the time being, shy, and so he would do this for her. He would let her lead the way and wouldn't coax her into any form of intimacy, until she was ready to accept him that way.

They remained quiet for a long time, enjoying each other's company as if they knew one another for centuries and not for mere weeks.

And then, as if the final link of a chain was attached, the tension vanquished, every broken piece of patience got washed away and every lingering heartache was healed, the moment she turned her body to the side and wrapped an arm around his leg, nuzzling her face against his knee and thigh and instantly returning all the affection he had bestowed on her, tenfold.

Loki hadn't expected it as much as frost giants do not expect sun in Jotunheim, and so he had initially frozen in place and had withdrawn his hand from her hair. But that only lasted no more than a minute, until a wide proud smile broke all over his features and his fingers inserted themselves again inside her luscious curls, twisting playfully, silently showing their admiration and approval of what she had just done.

They sat like that for a bit. In fact that seemed to be the case with them. They would talk about the gravest, most intimate of things or they would do the most unexpected and then they would simply walk it off with silence, as if tired from life and exhausted of having to be at all times. So they would retire to their shared silence, with a hold, just like the one they had on one another right now. Once it had been her hand on his, now it was his fingers in her hair, her arm around his leg and her head against his thigh.

“Will you take me home please?”, she asked then, her voice distant and tired, as if she was on the brink of sleep. But that didn't take away from the fact that she had just called the place he lived, “home”.

Something changed inside him in that moment. Something that had stayed the same for far too long. This new wave of determination to care for another had brought with it a sense of belonging, for she had called home a space he had occupied two years ago for the sole purpose of having somewhere to sleep and eat. He didn't belong on Earth, that was for sure. Nobody wanted him here, except for Mrs Granzioni who tolerated him and perhaps the little dancer who now wanted to share willingly a space with him. He took this as an opportunity. An opportunity to find shelter not in a realm which was gone forever, not in a planet that despised him, but in a spacious penthouse with an incredible view of the city that reminded him of Asgard. Home could be his bed with the little dancer lying on it, waiting for him each and every night.

With a snap of his fingers, all of her stuff immediately vanished in flashes of green, safely teleported back to the penthouse and set in front of the leather couch in the living room.

“Thank you”, he heard her mutter, before he teleported both of them as well.

They were now back where they belonged. He was sitting at the edge of their own bed and she was unwrapping her arm from his leg, attempting to stand up.

But when she got to her feet, Loki noticed that she wasn't entirely stable and that she swayed back and forth a bit, until she lost her senses for a split second and began to fall. He was up instantly, catching her before she landed on the floor.

“Are you alright?”, he inquired against her ear, his voice urgent and worrisome.

She chuckled weakly at his reaction, “I'm fine... I haven't been sleeping very well and the exhaustion... is kicking in, I think”.

Loki nodded, remembering that he hadn't gotten much sleep as well over the past few days and with a supportive arm around her waist, he guided her to her side of the bed and carefully set her down. He gently tucked her under the covers and adjusted a soft pillow under her head. He decided to leave her alone and give her time to rest, but as he made to go away, she reached out and wrapped her delicate fingers around his wrist, whimpering for him to stay.

“Please”, she whined sweetly, already half asleep, “ Don't... I can't be alone any more”, and after that her arm dropped back down on the mattress with a thump.

The corners of his mouth moved upwards into a wide grin and he didn't need to hear another word of her lovely pleading to obey her wish.

Discarding his shoes quickly and taking off his shirt in one swift move, he came around the bed and tucked himself under the covers with her. He pressed his body against her back and brought her even closer by gently pulling her waist, before resting his hand flat on her stomach. He rubbed smooth circles there with his thumb, until she sighed contently and closed her eyes without a word.

“Little dancer?”, he asked then, suddenly remembering a tiny detail from their conversation tonight.

She hummed in response and he continued with a raised eyebrow, “ How did you know about my misgivings with Banner?”.

“Well, after it was all over with... you know, the attack, Tony Stark showed... I don't know, camera footage from the Tower? I guess. It was all over social media for a time”, she answered sleepily.

“I see he didn't miss a chance to exhibit my humiliation”, he chuckled.

“I... I remember kids at my school constantly laughing about it”, he scoffed at her comment. _Of course they would_...

“And what about you? Did you laugh? I bet it was quite amusing”, he joked, but she didn't laugh.

Andrea didn't really like him throwing jokes about it. He sounded bitter, even though there was amusement in his voice. Sleepy as she was, she wanted to reassure him that her reaction had been nothing like her classmates'. She didn't know why it was so important to her to make him see that she was different and so she cuddled closer to him, her bum rubbing gently against his body as she moved her hand on top of his own on her stomach and squeezed it. He just had to know. She just had to let him know.

“There was nothing to laugh about Loki. You were in pain. I don't laugh at other people's pain, because I wouldn't want them to laugh at my own”. And with that, she sighed and placed her hand back on the pillow, next to her head.

Loki didn't reply, he only half smiled at her sweet words and silently admired the kindness of her soul. He pressed her against his body firmer and began drawing circles in the surface of her stomach. That was his thank you.

Sleep took them easily and one thing could be said with certainty.

They didn't really care when they would wake up again.

 


	15. make yourself at home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity begins. Loki and Andrea will, from now on, learn how to live around each other. Things are meant to run smoother than they thought. The odds are in their favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here's chapter 15. Sorry for not posting it this morning, but I slept through it and so here we are now. I hope you enjoy! See you next Thursday...
> 
> (Pictures are burrowed from the web, originally found by me on pinterest. All their rights belong to their respective owners).
> 
> Thank you in advance for all the comments, kudos and lovely, kind words. And of course, thank you for the help you're sometimes providing in the comment section. I truly appreciate it, since I'm not a native speaker. I love you all and I hope I keep making this fanfic great!

The next morning, or perhaps afternoon, Loki woke up first and, as was his usual routine, waved his hand about and the curtains, which Mrs Granzioni always insisted on pulling open, magically shut. Countless were the times when he had specifically asked her not to do that, because the natural light irritated him first thing in the morning, which to him, extended up to 15:00 in the noon, but the old woman just kept on doing it. He knew by now that it was an act to spite him and make her laugh when he wasn't looking.

Still on his side, he propped himself on the elbow, careful not to disturb much the weight on the mattress, and gazed down at Andrea's sleeping form, while he rubbed tiny circles with his forefinger on her stomach. A grin broke out on his face as he heard her breathing quicken, because of his ministrations and randomly thought if she somehow knew how she reacted to him in her sleep.

He did not wish to risk overwhelming and waking her up, so he withdrew his hand and sat up on the bed cautiously, resting his back on the headboard and taking a quick look around the place. He noted all the available spaces where adjustments or additions could be made, for his mind was set on making this apartment feel warmer and more welcome for her. It was important to insert her own ''touch'' of decoration, colour and style and mix it with his own. Thankfully their preferences were almost the same, since they were both besotted with the idea of quiet darkness, simplicity and obsessed with the bolder colours of the palette. Thus, with all these little details on his mind and his seidr already slipping through his fingers in excitement, he began to turn this penthouse into her new home.

 

***

 

When Andrea woke up, feeling a little dizzy and overly warm, she had no idea what time, day, hemisphere it was, not that it mattered immensely to her. All that was of importance was the silky sheets that caressed her half naked legs and the smell of mint and sweaty sleepiness.

Taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes tightly, making a funny face in the process, she stretched an arm upwards and a leg backwards before turning absent mindedly on her other side to drape said arm and leg over the softest yet most solid pillow she had ever touched. Realising that it smelled nice as well, she nuzzled her face against it and purred contently like a kitten.

Loki, who had finished with the house additions a few moments ago, watched in amusement as she woke up and bumped onto his body. He was fighting with himself not to laugh aloud, because she did look like a baby lion - what with her hair being a messy bush- that tried sleepily to find its mother's comfort. But when her beautiful pale hand began to rub his stomach and belly, a small fire started to develop and burn mildly in his loins, a fire that was about to bring further stirrings, if he didn't put it out soon. It was mesmerizing how just an innocent touch of her hand could bring him, mind and body, to full attention, but as much as he wanted her to continue, he knew that he should stop her. It wouldn't be wise to introduce her this early on to the unlimited desires of his body. He would surely overwhelm her.

“Hmm, someone is eager this morning”, he cajoled and watched with a wide grin on his face, as her eyes slowly opened. When they concentrated on his features and suddenly widened in understanding, he added, “ Well, hello there”.

Andrea blushed like a poppy on the first day of spring and after withdrawing her hand, she tried to sit up and put some distance between them, out of respect for his private space, which she had so stupidly, sensually evaded. But his lengthy fingers found her wrist and wrapped themselves around it, preventing her from going anywhere.

“Sorry... I didn't mean to...”, she mumbled a hoarse apology, avoiding to look at his face or gaze down at the toned stomach and belly she had been rubbing only seconds ago.

Loki's lips parted in a mischievous smile, his eyes darting from her rosy cheeks to her long throat.

“It's alright, little one”, he said in a low voice and pulled her towards him. He was glad that there was no resistance from her part, as he positioned her by his side once more.

She stretched her legs underneath the covers and somewhat straightened her spine to get more comfortable. He put his arm over her shoulders and began to play with her hair, as she rested her head on his chest, just a little above from where his heart was beating in a steady, yet loud rhythm. His skin was cool, for which she was grateful, since her cheeks burned hot, both from the previous incident and from the new kind of proximity.

There was a sense of familiarity that was balancing on friendliness and quiet sensuality, developing between them and even that was an understatement. She found comfort in his hold, as if he were her friend, but she also found a mixture of softness and sweet anticipation, as is he were her lover. The fact that he was half naked and she was safely covered up to the neck only intensified the conflict between already conflicting emotions.

Struggling to focus on something other than his toned stomach, or the little hairs at the centre of his chest, which, surprisingly enough, were not black like the hair on his head, or on the way his body breathed under her head, she didn't even notice that he had started speaking.

“Little dancer...”, he sing sang and tugged lightly at a lock next to her ear.

“Sorry, what?”, she murmured, her eyes snapping upwards to find his. He was smiling down at her and something in that smile made her bite her lip and stop breathing for a whole minute.

“Got a little distracted, didn't we? I know I' m a wonderful sight for the eyes, especially in the mornings, but pay attention, pet. I have things to show you”, he scolded, but it didn't sound like scolding. His tone was light and he was doing that thing again, where he pretended to be deeply wounded. It always had her giggling.

He tugged at a strand of hair again to bring her back to attention and she apologised, after clearing her throat, “ I'll concentrate now, I promise. What do you want to show me?”. She searched his face, but found no hints as to what was his purpose and so she waited for him to speak, picking at the skin around her fingernails.

“Well for starters...”, he smiled a wicked smile and waved his hand towards the second enormous window, the one closest to the bed. Immediately, the curtains were pulled open, allowing the sunlight to shine down on his beautiful creation, “... this is your new desk”.

Andrea turned her gaze towards the light. Her breath hitched in her throat and her mouth dropped slowly to form a perfect O.

“Oh my...”, was all that she managed to utter.

Positioned sideways in front of the window, was the most undeniably beautiful desk she had ever laid eyes upon. Its size, height and length were ideal and seemed to precisely suit her own size and needs, as there was enough space on the surface to place all of her books, notepads, small stationery and laptop. It was high enough so that her knees wouldn't scrape against its underside, but low enough so that she wouldn't have to bend forward a lot and injure spine and neck. It matched perfectly with the other colours in the penthouse as it was made out of a dark, almost black wood that truly seemed to be unbreakable and which emanated the same aura as the rest of Loki's furniture. Neutral and neat. Her eyes twinkled when she saw how shiny it was, as if it had just been polished, and due to the way the light hit it, she observed the intricate carvings upon it. She followed the loops with her gaze for a moment, before concentrating on the equally dark armless chair behind it.

It was made out of the same dark wood and was as shiny as the desk, but the surprise of it was that it had emerald green cushions attached on both back and seat. From where she was sitting, they looked so soft and comfortable.

 

“Is this truly mine?”, she whispered, not quite believing that he would gift her with something so big and mind you, quite useful, since she was a student. She didn't feel worthy of its beauty and stance.

Loki took her chin between his fingers and turned her face towards him, his eyes locked on her own, “Of course it is. As is the vanity with the two cupboards I added in the bathroom and the extra space I made in the closet and the paravane with the orchids that I positioned in it, so that you can change with more privacy”, he informed in a casual voice, but his stare was dead serious. Andrea couldn't hide the shock in her expression, “ All of them dark, elegant and quiet, like yourself. I would have added a second bed as well, but I do not think we have any problem with sharing”. At the last comment, he winked at her, making a smile appear on her lips and break just slightly through her flabbergasted face.

 _...dark... elegant... quiet, like yourself..._ , she repeated inwardly, adoring the praise and the compliments. It felt like each and every organ in her body had been injected with heavy doses of happiness and thus, without thinking it too much, she threw her arms around Loki's neck and buried her face in the crook. From his initial gasp, it was obvious that he hadn't expected her reaction, but it didn't take him long to release a sigh, tinged with a small chuckle, and return the embrace. With his nose buried in her hair, he took a deep breath, aiming to gather as much of her scent inside him. His arms were all over her upper back, rubbing her shoulder blades and caressing them through the heavy fabric of her dress.

“You didn't have to do all this for me”, she whispered guiltily in his ear, “I don't deserve it”.

He grinned against her head, “ I think you do. But even if you didn't, well, I'm not such a fair player, little one. In any aspect of life. Just ask poor Thor. I've been stabbing him since we were infants”.

The joke got her to laugh a bit, the sound close to a little animal's rumble, before she reluctantly disentangled herself from him. As she moved away, gathering her legs under her, she realised that is was difficult for him as well to let go, because his hands stayed in her body even though the embrace was broken.

As he caressed a knee with his thumb and tucked some strands of hair behind her ears with his other hand, Andrea could do nothing but blush and look down to her lap, and nothing else to say, rather than thank him for everything for the millionth time.

When he smiled at her, she held her breath for a second, because his smiles always caught her off guard, and returned it shortly after.

“What are you waiting for?”, he suddenly asked and when confused eyes met his own, he added, “ Go. Make yourself at home. I will come join you soon”.

“Oh, okay”, she mumbled and blushed again at her slowness to realise what she was expected to do. It wasn't her fault. His smile was distracting.

She nodded and climbed off the bed, heading to the living area with small, timid steps to unpack her suitcases.

She didn't raise her head from the contents of the first bag when she heard him walk to the bathroom, just observed him out of the corner of her eye. She saw him go in, stretching his lean arms, and disappear in it, not even bothering to close the door. Turns out she was right about him not holding modesty to high regard.

Quickly she shook her head and took some university textbooks and her laptop out of the emerald backpack and set them on her new desk, struggling to decide how to position them. But then she heard the loud hiss of the water from the shower and that was when thoughts, she shouldn't be having, bombarded her mind.

She twisted her toes in circular motions on the floor and caught her forefinger between her teeth. _No, no, no this is a bad idea_ , she scolded herself. _Turn around_ , she insisted as she started to pace on her tiptoes, timidly taking herself closer to the inviting, yet forbidden sound.

 _Andrea stop it. It's rude and intrusive_ , she shouted internally, but the pull she felt towards whatever she was going to witness was too strong to ignore and besides, her brain was already swimming in dirty ideas and images. The dreadful possibility of discovery was present as well in the sea of her mind, but she stubbornly drowned it and decided that for once, she would follow a feeling instead of a thought or a doubt.

When she reached the door and peeped her head inside, the sound of the water was almost deafening and her nostrils instantly filled up with the scent of spice. Briefly she thought that perhaps it wasn't just the rose petals or the honey that made him smell so good, but the wonderful mixture of something soft, like the rose, and something rough, like, perhaps cinnamon. How all those smells blended so well with his skin and hair was a mystery, but she wasn't going to complain about or fuss over it.

He had his back to her and was facing the dark tiled wall as he rubbed the shower gel painfully slow into his arms and shoulders, massaging it deeply into the skin, before the water forced it away. She raked her eyes over his upper back for a while, noting how his shoulder blades moved and pressed against each other, as he flexed them or as he raised his hands to run some shampoo through his hair. The need to place a hand or a cheek on that back just to see how the muscles felt under her touch, was so strong that it frustrated her.

He was sculpted to perfection, although thankfully, he didn't come close to the build of his brother. Loki was leaner and lithe, despite the raw muscle he bore on his body. Shoulders, arms and waist were also toned and with such pale skin he looked like the depiction of the ideal man captured in the form of a statue.

As he rinsed the shampoo off his hair, the slippery white mixtures ran down his body, slowing a bit when they slid down the bigger muscles or the ridges of his shoulder blades, and then continuing casually down his waist, backside and thighs, until they glided to the tiled floor. And with the steams being sparse, since he had begun showering only a few moments ago, all of his body was perfectly visible, leaving nothing to the imagination.

She couldn't help, but move her gaze downwards, fixing it on his waistline and then firm buttocks. Her skin heated up and her breaths started to come out a little shaky, as her mind went through the most inappropriate of thoughts. One minute, she was tracing the curve of his thigh and backside with a fingertip, trying to memorize the shape, and the next she was grabbing those firm cheeks for support as he fucked her hard against the shower wall. The mere image, the transition between a perfectly gentle moment to an angry, passionate one, was so vivid that it made her rub her thighs together and swallow down a moan.

She felt as if both body and mind were ambushing her with their newfound desires, needs, ideas, truths, whatever they were. It didn't resemble the sexual awakening when entering puberty though. This was different. This felt. She couldn't give it a name, but if she had to describe it, she would say that it felt like an introduction to the sheer need of wanting to explore another body inside out, not just take your pleasure out of it, but really discover it, follow its trails like a treasure map, its ridges, learn the way it reacts to you, the way it moves, the signs indicating that it wants you to touch it, its weaknesses and strengths. All these somehow seemed important.

Truth was that she had seen naked men before and not just while she had been working at the club, but prior to that as well. Porn hadn't been above her and still wasn't, although she remembered that her encounters with such videos had more often than not left her, if not disgusted, at least a bit uneasy on the stomach. They all looked to be “dirty” without reason, uncomfortable for the women and... unnatural in some way. And so, after being disappointed with the depictions of the male body in such sexualized context, she had turned to art. Paintings, sketches, sculptures of bodies wrapped around or inside each other, male with male or male with female, had always been breathtaking and satisfying. She had even started sketching some of those pictures herself, although she had never liked the final results and so she found joy in other, more talented peoples' work.

And even before that, she had once chanced upon seeing her father naked, which had been perfectly normal, since they lived in the same house. So, she wasn't at all unfamiliar with the male physique, but, so far none of the living bodies she had laid eyes upon caused anything inside her. She didn't want them, she wasn't aroused by them, hell, after working at a brothel for three months, she had begun to lose her interest in men all together.

But his body was... different. It was like the art she liked to observe or attempt to sketch. Like the sculptures she could gaze upon for hours on end or like some of her favourite alternative films, in which sex and the human body were depicted exactly as they were. And at the same time, it was much more than that. She couldn't explain it even to her own self. His body just felt right when she pictured it against her own, when she linked it with his and pressed it against all the right places, both inside and out. There was so much poetry in that single thought, so much eroticism that all she wanted to do was take off her clothes, walk into the shower space and stay with him under the water for days.

 _I want it_ , she kept thinking, but sadly the fear won and made her step back. The fear that she wasn't ready for someone like him. A man of his stature, prestige and elegance would certainly have expectations and she... she lacked the experience. So, she moved away from the bathroom and silently returned to the living room, where her things awaited to be sorted out.

As the water continued to echo all around her, she began with organising her desk surface. Laptop, textbooks, pencil cases, stacks of papers, all of them needed to be strategically positioned so that she could function properly while studying.

Once she was done with that, she moved on to her literary wealth, which consisted of 41 books in total. She picked up book after book and set it wherever she found space. Some of them ended up on her desk. Others rested on her night stand and others on the coffee table in the living room. But there were still many to be placed and so far, she couldn't find available spaces. She decided that she would figure out where to put them later and perhaps ask Loki if he had any ideas. She would hate it for her beloved books to end up on the floor.

All bags were open now on the carpet beside the bed and Andrea was kneeling in front of them, picking up random clothes, folding them carefully and placing them in stacks upon the bed, which she would later take and place in the drawers, Loki had cleared out for her, in the closet.

Another stack of three pairs of jeans, was ready for transport and so she picked it up and went in the little room to store it in a half full drawer. All in all, she didn't own many clothes and so most of the pieces fitted in just that one drawer. She closed it with determination before turning around to fetch her underwear and nightshirts.

 

But the moment she went over the threshold, her eyes found Loki, sitting casually at the edge of the bed with only a white towel hanging loosely around his hips. On his face he wore a wicked grin and she immediately discovered the reason for it. From his forefinger hung one of her sexiest pair of panties. The all lace and see through at the front one black one.

“Interesting”, he said curiously as he inspected it from all sides.

Andrea's cheeks caught fire and she was on to him before he could get even more distracted by it.

“No, no, it's not. Impulse buy. Human stuff. I was young and stupid”, she blurted out and snatched it from his hands, going back to closet to tuck it under a sweater, his chuckle following her inside.

But the minute she turned around to leave, she bumped onto his granite strong body. She mumbled an apology and gave him a quick once over, as if wanting to make sure she hadn't injured him, but that proved to be a mistake.

The second her eyes darted downwards she saw that he had lost the towel he previously wore and was standing butt naked just a few inches away from her, smirking like the devil he was.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she looked up to the ceiling immediately, before scattering away and out of the closet, in an almost comical manner, as he chuckled lightly and opened one of his own drawers to find something to wear.

Once she was back at the bedroom, she knelt beside the bed and began gathering all of her lingerie in the airport hand luggage in order to move them into the closet later, without him inspecting each and every one, when she randomly glimpsed at a medium plastic bag containing all of her medication, plus the two emergency morphine syringes.

She took the cursed chemical concoctions in her hands and thought back to her time with Loki at the apartment. She had been a little scared of telling him about her chronic condition with anger, but she had decided that if they were going to live together, he had to know some things about her. Some things that wouldn't go away with time and patience. If he didn't know, it wouldn't be fair to him and whatever had begun to develop between them would be based on the assumption that she was completely stable mentally.

She hadn't really known how to begin or how to express how she got when angry, but his massaging hand and soothing presence was all the push she had needed in order to talk. And once she had finished, he hadn't left her. He hadn't abandoned her with her problems nor had he withdrawn his offer because of her life choices. Instead, he had understood and had gone as far as admitting that his own temper hadn't always been under control. Oh, how guilty and ashamed she had felt when he'd revealed what his own triggers were.

The moment she had realised that her apartment didn't fit the description of big space, she had panicked. Of course, he had politely said that there was nothing to worry about, but she couldn't help but, well, worry about it anyway. She knew the consequences of going through an episode and the thought of him suffering internally, because she hadn't wanted to leave the apartment right away, felt like a weight on her chest.

“You're deep in thought. What is the matter?”, Loki suddenly asked, as he assumed his previous sitting position on the bed, now dressed.

Andrea shrugged, trying to cheer up a little, “ Nothing. Just that modesty isn't your strongest trait”.

Loki made a shocked expression and peered down at her curiously with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that made her equally excited and scared.

“Modesty”, he repeated mockingly, but then continued in a more serious tone, “Says the woman who couldn't take her eyes off me in the shower”. And with that he paused and leaned back on his hands, eyeing her expectantly.

 _How did you-, “_ No, I di- _”,_ she started to protest, but when he raised his eyebrows in a “what were you going to lie about” expression, she realised that there was no point hiding it.

She breathed deeply and let her gaze drop to the contents of her larger suitcase, cheeks red as blood. She didn't have the nerve to find an excuse and so she let the silence speak, until Loki broke it.

“Was it another one of your experimentations?”, he asked, suddenly all too serious and controlled, his voice neutral, similar to the way psychologists talk to patients.

It didn't take her long to realise the meaning of his question. _Why did you stay_ , he had asked on their last meal together. _I wanted to feel things_ , had been her answer. Watching him in the shower wasn't any different. That too had been an effort to experience those... things he stirred within her. So, she clutched at the plastic bag in her hands a little tighter and nodded in agreement, still not looking at him.

“How did you feel?”, he pressed, truly intrigued by this procedure she put herself through every now and then. Observing him, watching him, letting him move around her, touch her, talk, stare. Just to see how she would feel. It was like a little mature game of seduction and he wondered if she was aware of it.

Andrea opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She couldn't answer that question, because she was terribly scared of the outcome. She briefly thought about joking to throw him off. Tell him that he had a really nice backside or something of the sort, but she doubted that he would buy it and besides, she wanted to take this matter seriously, because, so far in her 19 years of life, it was the most serious thing that had happened to her. Those feelings. This bond. This connection. The pull. Whatever it was.

“I don't know how to explain it, I'm sorry... it's... difficult and I... don't understand it...”, she finally admitted, announcing defeat.

Loki thought for a moment about letting it slide, because he knew that she couldn't be pushed to talk and would only let things on when she felt completely sure about them. That was how she worked and now that he knew it, he could trust her to talk to him when she needed it. But there was something very particular he had felt coming out of her while he showered. There had been heat and the occasional hard swallow or shaky breath that had made him smirk, but there was also this little thought, these three words, dancing around her mind that had roused his curiosity. _I want it_.

He nodded twice with his head, before delivering his answer, “ Perhaps it would have been easier if you had joined me”.

Andrea's eyes snapped upwards in an instant to stare at him. He had phrased it so casually, as if showering with him, naked and wet, was something they were already doing together and didn't need further explaining or coaxing. She blushed as she reminded herself that she shouldn't be so shocked about what he had said, since she had already thought of it herself.

“ Maybe”, was all she said, before dropping her gaze back down to focus on the rest of her stuff that needed sorting out. She rested the bag with the pill bottles on the floor beside her and began to fold her two cashmere sweaters, one in grey and one in camel.

“What are all these?”, Loki said and bend forward to pick up the plastic bag from the floor, inspecting its contents worriedly.

Andrea glanced towards what he was holding and stated in a neutral tone, “ That's my medication”.

Loki raised an eyebrow at her and when she saw it, she squinted her eyes a little and asked, “ What?”. His face was unreadable and that made her feel a bit uneasy.

“I thought you only took Valium”, he stated then, eyebrows now furrowed, as if in deep worry.

“I said I mostly take Valium. These are the rest, plus some iron supplements because Valium drains me off energy and some other pills, because iron makes my stomach ache and it goes on...”, she explained. Her tone was casual, since this were the pills she had been taking from the age of thirteen. The procedure, side effects, inner workings of them all had grown on her. But Loki didn't react similarly to her.

“Don't you think that's a bit much?”, he suggested with a heavy frown on his face, “All these inside you. I can only imagine the catastrophe going on in your system ”. But just as he said that, he realised that he had chosen the wrong word. He did not imagine it. He knew it.

All those times she had looked pale and drained, or suddenly skinnier than other times. It even explained why one minute she could walk fast and the next, barely stay on her feet. Even her nightmare condition may have been intensified by all these chemicals entering her body. Not to mention that she hadn't been taking them with enough food in her stomach for three months straight. Sleep deprivation, malnutrition, inexplicable exhaustion. No wonder, she always felt like collapsing. And through all that, she had to be studying as well. Just how had she managed?

“The doctors don't know any other ways to help me keep it under control and I don't either. I have been taking all these for six years and a few months. I've grown used to them”, she tried to assure him, but as she said the words aloud, she realised that that was no reassurance at all.

Loki stared at her for a moment with parted lips, wondering if he should demand something like this from her or not. But to hell with it. She couldn't keep living on pills and depend on them to keep her calm. In another six years they would probably stop doing anything and would begin to work more like placebos. That was how human medicine worked.

“ I don't want you to take them again”.

Andrea sighed in understanding of his concern, but she had to somehow tell him that there was no choice, but to follow the prescriptions.

“ I know you're worried”, she began and got up to stand in front of him with her hands crossed over her chest, “ But if I stop taking them, that might bring other side effects for which I will perhaps not be ready. So, I can't-”.

“Please”, he muttered, interrupting her. That was a word he didn't often use, or on second thought, that he never used. It sounded weird as it left his lips spontaneously, but he didn't give it any more thought. He looked up at her and tossed the bag back on the suitcase.

His now free hands came up to untangle her arms from around her body and as he entwined their fingers together with gentleness, he said, “ I promised that I would help you keep it under control, did I not?”.

They locked eyes and she bit her lip, considering, “ You did”.

“Then trust me to do so”, he stated in a smooth, but determined voice, and without Andrea expecting it, he lowered his forehead on her stomach and rested it there, as if asking for forgiveness or as if surrendering to her judgement and her judgement alone.

She had never seen him do something like that. Something sweet that required him to let his guard down, without even an ounce of sternness and that got her thinking that this behaviour was something reserved for her eyes only. Or it was his way of mentally manipulating her to drop her meds. It was possible. It was very possible now that she thought of it and it wouldn't be surprising, coming from the very God of Mischief. But her gut told her otherwise. It told her that he was being genuine and that he was going completely off character, because of her.

And in all honesty, it felt empowering to have a man lean against you, almost putting himself at your mercy. He wasn't moving from that position. No attempts at gaining back his previous control. His shoulders were relaxed and his breathing normal and if she could see his face, she would have been sure that he had his eyes closed. He needed this and she felt more than confident to give it, for reasons that she couldn't quite explain yet.

She squeezed his fingertips to bring him to attention and then she found the courage to return his sweet gesture. So, she withdrew her hands from his own and very carefully ran her fingers through the damp hair at the back of his neck and rested them at the base of his scalp, where she gently scratched him with her nails. He seemed to react to it, because he hummed contently, like a puppy getting his first rub behind the ears.

A small smile crept up on her lips as she thought that perhaps even he, the almighty and wise God, sometimes needed to be comforted and assured. She had just never thought that he would allow her to see this part of himself so soon.

“ May I know what you're thinking about?”, she asked in a low voice, because she didn't want to disturb his moment.

He answered with a drawn out sigh, without detaching his head from her stomach, “ I don't want these things inside your body, especially when there are other ways to help you control the anger and many more feelings, stronger than that”.

“Like the method you are using on yourself?”, she inquired in the same low voice, as she mimicked the massaging movements he had used on her last night.

He nodded, but from Andrea's line of sight it looked like he was rubbing his head against her dress, “ Would you be willing to let me help you?”.

She thought about it for a moment, not sure if she could say yes to that. She trusted him, that was beyond questioning, but could she really stop a medication that had been in her system since she'd turned thirteen? It was a long shot, but then again, if his method included seidr, then the chances of failing were truly unexpected, because his magic was absolute.

“I guess we can try it once or twice, right?”, she decided, “And see how it goes?”.

At that, his hands came up and gripped her waist gently, bringing her closer to him, until she stood between his legs and his face got shoved against her body. He breathed her in and for some reason his nose tickled her stomach and she tried to wiggle away, but he wouldn't let her. He only grinned against the fabric of her dress and rubbed his forehead on it.

“Thank you”, he mumbled against her, and although it was a bit muffled, she heard it.

That was all he needed from her. A couple of times of her complete trust and with his guidance, she would be able to draw back her anger and prevent it from spreading throughout her body. The violent urges would be gone before she even knew it and should they need a little more practice at that he would be happy to take a couple of beatings from her, as long as those pills stayed out of her stomach.

“ Are you alright?”, she asked then, tugging at his hair gently.

He took a deep breath and let her go, quite reluctantly. He didn't know when or if he would be allowed to touch her like that again and so he had made sure to enjoy every moment of it. Her fingers in his hair, his hands holding her tightly to him. His lungs full of her scent and his mind finally peaceful. It was close to what he could call heaven, even though he would never admit it aloud. Their mutual intuitiveness was superb and in their case, it served a great purpose. A look could mean help me and a touch, soothe me. A tear, talk to me and a tug, hold me.

For the remainder of the day, they didn't do anything else but unpack and organise. She had managed to put all of her clothes into the closet, which to Loki's surprise, weren't as many as he had thought. All of her toiletries had also been stored in the vanity in the bathroom, although she had noted that she still needed a couple of womanly things. She would perhaps kindly ask Mrs Granzioni to get them for her when she would visit them again.

Loki, on the other hand, had been entrusted, with no small amount of reluctance from her side, with his little dancer's books. He had found her reaction to him touching the covers extremely amusing, mostly because that was how he reacted with his own books. Thus, to put her at ease, he had revealed one of his most treasured secrets inside this penthouse.

“Ready?”, he had asked. And with a wave of his hand, bookshelves appeared all around on the walls. Andrea's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open at the sight of them. They were positioned everywhere in rows. Between the large floor to ceiling windows, above the bed, above the kitchen area, left and right of the front door and the closet door. Every empty space on the walls had at least a shelf or two on it.

It took her breath away and she couldn't help but imagine that she was residing in a humongous library. It was more than clear now that Loki appreciated books as much as she did. Knowledge meant a lot to him and judging by the lovely colourful state of the books all around her, their preservation did as well. Happily, she'd given him all of her 41 books, which now seemed such a small number in comparison to his own collection, and allowed him to arrange them on a shelf close to her desk. In the meantime, she had secretly gone back to the bedroom to slide the airport hand luggage into the closet and put her panties and bras in the bottom drawer.

“ I've never met a Midgardian woman who pays more attention in obtaining books rather than clothes. I'm guessing you're the delicious exception”, he commented as they both ate the eggs and bacon that she had quickly prepared as a late breakfast.

As Andrea had found out, Mrs Granzioni had already taken care of lunch and dinner so she didn't have to worry about those. She must have dropped by early in the morning as they slept. It was now ten minutes to four. Soon, they would be eating pork chops with Chinese barbecue sauce.

“There are reasons for that actually. First of all, I like reading books and studying them. Secondly, clothes are nice, but... I seldom find something I really want...”, _or have the money to buy_ , _or find its texture satisfying_ , she added inwardly, “... I'm picky like that, I guess. My style is very certain. I feel that... it suits me”, she concluded and took a sip of her water, but then remembered adding, “ Mm, besides, I don't think you have met many Midgardian women. You would be surprised how many of us enjoy literature”.

Loki smirked, noting proudly how she seemed to be looser and say what was on her mind without filters.

“I don't need to meet many. I already found the one I want”, he stated boldly and watched with amusement how she stopped eating to clear her throat.

She raised her head and met his usually stoic and dead serious face, the one that warned you that he wasn't fucking around. Some, who didn't know him the way Andrea did, could say that he looked almost a bit angry. But not her. She knew that that was the face he made when he wanted to bring severity into an atmosphere. The God of Mischief wanted you to take him seriously only when he looked at you with his neutral coldness.

“ Then I hope she does not disappoint you”, Andrea teased, suddenly feeling emboldened.

“She will not. I should be the one worrying about letting her down”, he answered, continuing their little game with pleasure.

“You will not. Just keep telling her nice things. Girls like that, you know...”, she said a bit shyly and got up to gather their now empty plates. She took them to the sink and then returned for the glasses, adding, “ Now, you will have to excuse me, but I need to go study. I am behind in two classes”. It was her attempt at ending, too soon, their word quarrel, because she knew full well that sooner or later she would ran out of smart things to say.

She was just going around the table towards her desk, when he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her forearm. She stopped moving then, obeying his silent command to stay where she was. Gazing down at him, she saw how his own arm came up to slightly wrap around hers, until his hand could lightly caress her elbow, a caress that made her both nervous and excited. “She's not a girl”, Loki said and leaned on the side. When he placed the softest and coolest kiss at the tender skin there, Andrea's fingers tingled and she drew in a shaky breath. When he spoke again, he sounded strict and that strictness somehow harboured a seductiveness that was so unfamiliar to her inexperienced mind and body, “ She's a woman”.

She drew in another deep breath and when she exhaled, a smile broke out on her face. His words were simple and raw, and there was nothing she admired more in people than that. It woke up her senses.

“Then...”, she said bravely, “... I think she already knows what she wants. So... maybe, she needs to be reminded that she has the courage to take it”.

They both stayed like that for a moment or two, enjoying the mutual touch and when Loki gazed up at Andrea and she peered down at him, the connection was instantly established and the words understood.

“Enjoy your studying while you can, little dancer”, he said, both eyebrows raised in a sort of suggestive expression.

Andrea smirked a little and walked towards her new desk, already missing the slight touch of his lips. Then suddenly, she made a quick decision with which she would bring down another barrier between them.

“I'll be dancing on Sundays”, she told him behind her shoulder, but his only response was a warm smile and a bow of his head in thanks. That was her signal that he had already withdrew himself in his own mind, so she had to let him with his thoughts.

After sitting down on her desk, she began to reluctantly flick through the pages of a textbook. Soon though, she became so engrossed in her task, as it usually happened, that she almost forgot about Loki, who was now casually spread out on the couch, reading a book in a bright red cover.

Little did she know though, that the God of Mischief was actually doing no such thing, but was instead thinking about ideal ways of showing her the brilliant woman she was and ways of helping her take what she wanted, not just from him, but from life itself.

 


	16. sweet gestures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first days at the penthouse have passed quietly. Only mutual understanding and acceptance for one another's habits have reigned between the two characters, but when time comes for Andrea to return to the University things are somewhat disturbed. It seems that the memories of that night at the alley still haunt her and contact with people is scary and more than frustrating. What will a certain God do to help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're having a great day! Here's chapter 16, the continuation of the story of our sweet and unconventional couple. Things are warming up between the two, that much I can tell. Enjoy your reading! 
> 
> *As always, pictures are burrowed from the web (found by me on pinterest on a sad, lonely, rainy afternoon), and therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. 
> 
> See you next Thursday...

Their first days together passed peacefully, without disturbances from external factors and without the tedious activity of having to go out, into the wider world. The past four days had rolled by in shared joy, and above all, mutual quietness, something most valuable to Andrea, for whom noise was confusing and tiresome.

 

She hadn't been doing much, apart from study, eat, sleep and then wake up to do all that again. She was completely and utterly focused on catching up with all the taught material from her classes, as well as with the material she kept missing, due to her not really going to University to attend the lectures. She had instead preferred to stay indoors and listen to them from the tape the teachers uploaded online. That way, she had the chance to remain closer to Loki and his calming presence and to generally get used to another person being around her this much. The transition from living in her small, lonely apartment to residing in his spacious and warm penthouse, - with him in it- , was like entering another world.

At first, it had felt strange how many things she didn't have to do on her own. Since Mrs Granzioni had been visiting them regularly, she happened to be taking care of everything concerning food and housework. Andrea couldn't be more grateful for having another person go out for grocery shopping. Skipping the supermarket had been a life saver, since the last time she had tried it on her own things hadn't turned out that well. The memory was unfortunately still fresh and she dreaded to think what would happen if she ventured outside once again by herself.

But very soon, perhaps on Mrs Granzioni' s second or third visit, Andrea had begun to feel guilty about practically doing nothing to aid in the running of this house and so had promised that when done with the excessive amount of study material, she would begin to help more with cooking and laundry. Of course, Mrs Granzioni had objected to it, insisting that it was no trouble for her, but Andrea had been relentless and so the old woman had finally agreed.

After that had been settled, she had occupied herself with exclusively studying like a crazy, nerdy student, who could go on writing without having to sleep or feed themselves for hours on end. Inspiration had struck her and since the need inside her to procrastinate was dormant, she took advantage and exhausted her mind day in and day out.

Five essays, 1000 words each, about different aspects in Hamlet had been her proudest achievement, as were the marks she had received for them from her teachers' grading. They had been really impressed as they sent her course work through email, but they had also been very sad to see her absent from their lectures and so had kept pushing her to come back the minute her pneumonia would subside completely. She had decided that they were right and so without overthinking it, she had replied that she would be back at University on Friday. But that only meant that she had to work through her material that much sooner so that she would know what was what during the upcoming lectures.

And so she had worked hard for those four days, which seemed to have no morning and night hours. Andrea had only known what time it had been because of the meal she and Loki were supposed to eat at specific hours. That was the only manner she kept track of the days and the nights. Most of the time, she had been exhausted beyond belief to even raise a spoon of porridge to her mouth, but somehow she managed to get through that tedious task and return shortly afterwards to her studying, picking up where she'd left of.

She had been writing things down, memorizing them, reorganising notes so that she could remember them better, rereading the bibliography her teachers had recommended, until Loki started to notice that on occasion, her head would sleepily drop down to the book and that she would wake up instantly only because of the painful impact on her forehead, whining and cutely rubbing at the spot soothe the ache.

Overall, he had been very respectful of her having to study intensely for her course, but after a while, it had dawned on him that she had been wearing herself out too much, instead of getting through the procedure in a beneficial way. Most of the time he had kept out of her way to allow her space and time to concentrate and get the work done faster, but there was one time in specific when she had gone too far and Loki wasn't sure if she had realised it herself until he brought the matter to her attention.

“Andrea, what are you doing? It's 3:00 in the morning”, he had informed one night, waking up from an overly extended nap. When he had gone to bed, she had been writing something in her laptop and now that he had woken up, she had still been writing feverishly.

“No, it's not. It's barely-”, she had started to protest, but a look at the clock above the bed told her otherwise, “... well, in a minute”. She had said with a grin and gone back to typing like a crazy little scientist.

“No more minutes for you. Come to bed. Now”, he had argued, but he had been met with indifference.

“Andrea. Bed. Now. Do not make me get up. You will not enjoy the consequences”, he had repeated himself, struggling to keep the humour of the whole situation from breaking through his serious tone.

“Shhh, I am trying to concentrate”, she had shushed him indignantly, waving her hand about, as if he had been a fly buzzing around her head.

“That's it”, he'd muttered under his breath, before getting up.

That got her attention, because the instant she heard steps, her head shot up to find him advancing on her. As she had been shaking her head, pleading him with puppy eyes for more time with her essay, he had gone around the desk and had pulled back the chair with her, still sitting on it. And before she had the chance to scout back, close to the laptop, he had grabbed her by the waist and hefted her over his shoulder. The sudden elevation had made her scream and wiggle a little, but all protest had soon been drowned by giggles and amused squeals.

He had dropped her on the bed like a sack of potatoes, before collapsing on top of her, creating an X with their bodies, to prevent a very possible escape.

Andrea had curiously peered down to check their position and a laugh had instantly vibrated through her chest at the sight. His body was laid on top of hers crossways and so their stomachs were pressing against one another quite uncomfortably. His hands had been somehow positioned on top of hers, possibly to keep her down, and his poor legs had been hanging off the bed.

“If we are going to sleep like that, at least put a shirt on. Your back is distracting me”, she had joked, feigning to be feisty and unwilling.

“You should consider yourself lucky, or perhaps unlucky, because I naturally sleep in the nude”, he had said sleepily, his voice muffled by the mattress.

Andrea had chuckled, but a wicked idea had evaded her mind and she instantly knew that it wouldn't stop annoying her unless she expressed it. She had no clue where it had sprang from or why, but saying it aloud hadn't sounded as wrong as she thought it would have.

“You know, I... I don't have a problem with you... sleeping naked”, she blushed at the word, but continued despite it, “If it's comfortable for you, I'm not opposed to it”.

Loki had raised his head at that and with it, an inquisitive eyebrow. He had searched her face for any kind of hesitation or false pretence or even the sign that she had just been taunting him, but found nothing of the sort. Instead, he had been met with rosy cheeks and a lip caught between teeth, her eyes suggestive and coy simultaneously.

“Well it is much more comfortable, but...”, he had tilted his head to the side, “... are you sure, little dancer?”. It had been a genuine question, because the idea of making her familiar with his body was both enticing and worrisome. He didn't want his sleeping habits to come across as sexual pressure or oppression. And he still hadn't been sure if she was challenging him or talking seriously.

Andrea had cleared her throat and said, in her most mature voice, “I think I am. As long as you keep... your... gifts, under the covers, I am fine with it”.

They had both chuckled at that, but it had been cut short, due to more protests and whines from her.

“Now, can you please get off me? I'm having breathing problems”, he had grinned, but had shortly after obliged, dropping on the mattress beside her with an exhausted gasp.

Andrea had turned on her side, waiting for him to come closer and cave her in with his body, just as she liked. But before that happened, she had heard a zipper and the rustling of clothing, a sound which unfortunately briefly reminded her of what happened to the girls at the club when a man was getting out of his pants. It had usually meant that some girl's insides were going to be torn apart by some drunk bastard's cock. The thought brought a sadness to her soul and a strong aversion to that particular body part, but she had quickly pushed both out the minute she had felt the familiar dip on the mattress. He had covered them a bit with the blanket and when his front had connected with her back, everything somehow fell into place.

At first contact she had frozen a little, sucking her breath in, surprised by the heat emanating from his lower regions, but when his protective arm wrapped itself around her waist, clutching at the fabric as if it had been clutching at life itself, she had relaxed against him completely.

Since she had been wearing gym shorts, her bare legs had gone a bit cold and so she had found his own and rubbed against them to seek out warmth, as if by instinct. He had probably understood that, because he took it upon himself to immediately entangle their limbs, satisfying her need without even uttering a syllable.

It was so peculiar, but she had sensed that he was somehow different, now that there were no garments weighing on him. A little freer in his movements, perhaps more lucid, like water. She had thought that maybe the permission she had given him to sleep naked had been something of a liberation to him. As if by taking off his clothes, he unburdened himself from a load of responsibilities and worries. He had felt softer too, not only because his jeans or trousers in general didn't graze her naked legs, but also because the texture of his skin was like touching pure velvet. It was even softer than her own. Lighter and paler.

“Are you alright?”, Loki asked, momentarily drawing her away from her noisy thoughts.

“I'm okay. Are... are you?”, she asked back.

He nuzzled his nose against the back of her neck, humming his agreement contently.

And that was another strange thing, stranger than the inner change she sensed, was that she hadn't been as freaked out as she thought she would be. Having a naked man pressed against your perfectly covered body with his member squeezed between his groin and your bum was a great big deal, or at least it would be to any other normal woman, who had zero experience in intimate contact with a man. But to Andrea, it hadn't felt like that. There was no fear in her, no shyness, because every single thing she did with Loki, whether that was watching him shower, or him kissing her hand, or resting his forehead against her stomach, felt intimate and personal to the deepest, darkest level. There was no better way to explain it, but this connection of his naked body with her clothed one, was so innocent that it felt perfectly dirty.

Perhaps it was happiness that she was feeling or the giddiness of a new sensual experience, but the mere thought of it made her want to show him that she accepted him as he was, bare and vulnerable and crouched over her, giving and receiving warmth. She hadn't wished to remain idle and frozen in his arms, but instead lift his spirits before they slept peacefully for the rest of the early morning hours.

“Loki?”.

“Mm...”, he had replied, his face already buried in her hair. He always seemed to do that, as she had noticed.

“If you sleep naked, then Mrs Granzioni-”.

“Has seen it all”, he had finished for her, making her clamp her mouth with her hand to stifle a shocked gasp.

“What-”.

“Do you want to know what she said?”, Loki had inquired incredulously, before answering his own question, mimicking Mrs Granzioni' s high pitched voice and accent, “Oh mio dio! Che è questo? You put this inside women? Are you crazy? I don't-”.

Andrea had kicked him with her elbow to stop him from saying anything further, while she spasmed from laughter in his arms, tears spilling from her eyes onto the pillowcase. Loki had been groaning from the blow and laughing at the same time too and it seemed like the mutual vibrations within their chests made them both burst out even harder. One sound triggering the other. One giggle initiating the next. Eventually, they had exhausted themselves so much that they had fallen asleep without another word.

 

***

 

Friday came and with it brought the obligation of abandoning her newfound shelter and stepping foot outside. University could not be put off any longer.

The previous day, Andrea had thoroughly planned everything and up to this morning and throughout breakfast she had been repeating the steps to herself like a computer program. _Out the door, down the street, walk with head low, talk to no one but your teachers, out the door, down the street, walk with head low, talk to no one but your teachers, out the door..._ And so on, until she could believe that it was going to work.

She put on her coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck and picked up her backpack, which she had prepared this morning with the utmost care.

Loki watched her sling it on one shoulder, but something felt wrong to him. There was an annoying weight at the pit of his stomach that wouldn't subside since he woke up this morning. He elected to keep it to himself though, not wanting to discourage her. So he simple asked, “Are you going to be alright?”.

Andrea smiled a toothless smile, straightened her back and nodded, “Absolutely”.

And with that she turned the door handle and exited the penthouse, shouting to Loki to have a nice day. Her determination and decisiveness got her to descend the stairs to the main door of the building with her head help high and her spirits lifted enough to get her through the day. But the minute she stepped outside on the sidewalk, she froze.

The brightness of the light and the occasional noisy car and the gasoline fumes the engines emitted, the birds, the dogs, the people walking and talking, couples looking at her weirdly as they passed her by, all of it was suddenly too confusing, too tiresome, too hostile and scary.

Panic overtook her as she realized that she had no idea what was the name of the street. She didn't seem to recognize any shops or buildings around her either, and even though she had GPS and google maps on her phone, the possibility of getting lost and end up crying in a dead end alley or worse, was too great to ignore.

And what if she got lost not just on her way there, but on her way back as well? It could happen, since there would likely be no substantial light left by the time she would finish her classes. What if someone got drunk and hurt her? What if someone sniffed something, went nuts and decided to rape her? What if her classmates passed her by today and their shoulders accidentally touched? What if she went crazy in the middle of the street? That's what had happened when she had tried to go to the supermarket. What if Sam was found in the same place as her, like it had happened at the coffee shop? What if-. She turned around and shut the door behind her with a loud bang.

As she ascended the stairs up to the penthouse, breathing with difficulty, it wasn't anger that made her start sniffling and forcing back sobs, but disappointment. The inability to behave like a grown woman and the inevitability of remembering in great detail the injuries others had inflicted upon her body when she had been at a most vulnerable state, were driving her not mad, but desperate. Desperate to reach her safe haven and shield herself under blankets and pillows or hide her weak and pathetic self in Loki's arms.

She unlocked with the second key he had produced for her and went inside, her face contorting tightly in an attempt to stop the itchiness in her throat. She locked again and after letting her backpack fall on the wooden floor, she leaned her forehead against the door and cried soundless tears.

Loki had been in the kitchen, pouring himself another cup of coffee and worrying about her, when he heard the door open and close hastily. Anxious to see what happened, he left the cup on the counter and rushed out of the kitchen and that's when he laid eyes upon his little dancer, maniacally wiping her hot salty tears with the sleeves of her coat.

He didn't say anything as he approached her trembling form with caution. When he got close enough, she suddenly straightened her back and sniffed angrily, before glancing towards him, as if to acknowledge his presence. He had expected to see an equally to that sniff, angry face, but he was met with the lack of any kind of expression, which was truly way worse. Her beautiful eyes were void. Her lips not even quivering. He caught himself wishing for the anger instead.

“I can't do this...”, she said, her voice cracking, “... I... I keep remembering... sorry”, and she breathed deeply, casting a look at the window, hoping that the light would blind her and give her an excuse to never go outside again.

And there was the bad feeling Loki had, proven right all along. Throughout breakfast and a bit afterwards as she got ready, he had observed how fidgety she had been. He had initially thought that it was understandable for one to feel a little anxious after returning to a place full of their peers, but as it turned out, this was more than anxiety. It was fear that he had read in her mind, not necessarily in the form of words, but hormones too. Her brain had been practically swimming in them from the minute she woke up. Letting her go outside all by herself had been a mistake, his mistake. He should have known, he should have interpreted this better.

He came closer to her from behind and leaned his face forward, pale cheek bumping against pale cheek, lips brushing over her earlobe, as his arms came up to wrap around her upper body and middle, fingers digging into her shoulder and waist. Her own made their way slowly upwards to cling onto his forearms, desperate, needy. She leaned her head back, so that it rested on his shoulder, and closed her puffy eyes, exhaling deeply in an attempt to exorcise the emotional turmoil.

He held back the urge to bend forward further and pepper her neck with soft kisses or nip at the skin just enough to leave a mark. He managed to control himself, knowing deep down that he wouldn't be comforting her if he gave in. He would startle her and force her away from him. So instead he resigned himself to holding her, rocking her right and left from time to time and listening carefully to her tiny swallows of both tears and saliva, his eyes fixed on the apple of her throat as it rose and fell with each effort to breathe.

“It's alright”, he whispered against her ear, using his chin to tip hers back even more so that her head completely rested between his long neck and broad shoulder.

“I'm... sorry...”.

“Shh”, he shushed her gently and tightened his arms around her.

“I hate to ask this of you but, I'm ...weak, on my own ...”, she began timidly, disgusted by the fact that she had reached the point of admitting such a thing, “Could you... could you maybe walk me there? I understand if you don-”.

“It would be my pleasure”, he cut her off, before doubt and insecurity consumed her.

“Thank you”, she whispered quickly and squeezed his arms earnestly.

He let go, quite hesitantly if he might add, and went into the closet to get dressed warmer. Of course, he wouldn't feel the cold outside, but he wanted to match her own cosy and wintery attire. To appear more mundane and familiar.

So, with his new black coat and biker boots on, he put a hand at the small of her back and escorted her outside. When they got down to the building's exit, she stopped for a bit on the last step, looking at the wooden door fearfully. Trepidation danced in her eyes, but Loki continued walking down, until he reached it and slightly opened it, allowing the low hum of the noise outside to fill the lobby. Then, turning back to her with a half smile on his face, he extended his hand, palm upwards and waited patiently.

“You're not weak Andrea. It's only your memories that have become stronger. They rule your mind, they rule your body, they trigger you when you least want it or expect it. And yet, all we have to do is simply replace them with even stronger ones”, he said eloquently, his voice like a warm caress against her skin.

She nodded with a tiny smile playing on her lips and with a decisive sniff, she took the last step and gave him her hand. His fingers were cool as he wrapped them around her own and his lips hot when he kissed her knuckles. That small act, shared only between them, was enough to help her extricate herself from the grip of fear and take the final step out the door, with him at her side. There was no direct reason for it, but she felt kind of unstoppable.

 

As they walked towards the University, which was a good one mile away from the penthouse, many people cast curious glances toward their direction, but neither Andrea nor Loki paid it any mind. It seemed somehow unnecessary to watch what everyone around them was doing, when they could laugh with each others' reactions.

The irritating sounds were still there, like tiny itches at the back of her head, but she was able to ignore them and focus on her strides instead. The light that had annoyed her so much before, now actually felt pleasant as it hit her face and illuminated Loki's naturally pale complexion. It made her daydream about how he would look under moonlight, but the only thing that came to mind was that he'd probably look like a vampire, the tall, dark and British kind.

People, walking past them and minding their own business, still made her feel a bit uneasy and many were the times when she walked closer to Loki, just to feel his presence nearer her. It was mostly out of instinct and out of need not to be touched by anyone else apart from him. Thankfully, he seemed to get the message each and every time and so he would smile his dirtiest smile and distract her from any potential fears.

His twisted little grins always triggered her own and thus, more often than not, they ended up smiling at each other without watching where they were going, until the whole situation became awkward and stupidly cute. They laughed it off and looked away and then done it again, like foolish high school sweethearts. But one of those times, as Loki's eyes fell on a flower shop, Andrea's, unfortunately, focused somewhere else.

Two men were coming their way and if she was not mistaken, they were eyeing her up and down in a very certain manner that made the little hairs in her body stand up. It had happened a few times in the past, but back then she had met each suggestive look with a cold heart and a cruelly stern face. Now, she doubted she possessed the emotional strength to do the same, even though these men were just checking her out. Surely, they wouldn't even bother opening their mouths to say anything disrespectful, as men so often do, but in her mind they looked like the biggest and scariest threat, like a real life nightmare.

As they were coming closer and closer, her first instinct was to run the other way and her second, to find something to defend herself with, but she had to do neither of those things, because as they were about to pass them by, Loki turned his head and shot them the evillest glare she had ever seen, accompanied by a taut jaw that suggested anger, but not really. At the same time, he placed a possessive hand at the small of her back, which then slid down and settled on her waist. He pulled her towards him abruptly and she almost bounced on his side, but found her balance immediately and resumed walking, matching his stride with ease. The men's gazes dropped to the stony side walk in less than a second and she could swear that she heard them increase the rhythm of their step.

When they did pass them by, Andrea turned her eyes to the side to observe the smirk of that alpha male pride, she so liked about him and which he not so often exhibited. It dawned on her that that was all he needed to do to make himself understood. Only a look and a moderated rough touch and instantly, everyone knew that the woman by his side, was his alone and God help anyone who tried to tell differently.

This quiet possessiveness and the ability to take control of any situation had her temperature rising, as she thought if he was like that in... other... aspects of his life, as well. Just then, he returned her dreamy gaze and she blushed red and, as if he was pleased by it, the smirk on his face got wider.

 _We do not have to voice it to acknowledge its presence_ , she remembered him saying and realised that she now understood it a little bit better. The thought she had a while back about them protecting and taking the burden off one another's shoulders was becoming a reality, despite the initial doubt.

Emboldened by safety and certainty, she slid her own hand around his waist, smirking triumphantly, while facing forward on the street, acting like nothing major had happened.

Loki chuckled at her reaction and squeezed her closer. As they were about the same height, he didn't have to lean down to reach her ear and whisper, “Mm, afraid they'll steal me away from you?”.

Andrea blushed again and tried to force back her smile as she answered, “Well, you are somewhat attractive, if I may say so. I have to watch out for competition. And you are quite menacing. Women dig that”, and squeezed him closer as well.

A growl escaped him that sent shivers down her spine and made her breathe shakily, but she managed to re-establish her composure swiftly. As they walked the rest of the way, he watched her with eyes full of adoration and want. The fierce grip she had on his body, iron and unmoving, reminded him that she was real and that she indeed existed by his side. _This is not a dream. This is not an illusion, Laufeyson_.

Seeking out his protection, laughing with him for no reason at all, letting out her own possessive instincts, holding him close to her to let it be known to the whole world to whom he belonged... There it was. The mischief and the confidence boiling in her breast, strong enough to spark his own.

Allowing her to set the pace of whatever this was between them had been a wise choice. That way, he knew for a certainty that each word, each touch and action was genuine, because his little dancer was careful and never did or said things lightly. And today, with her grip and the previous nights, with her clothed body against his naked one she had reciprocated the way he felt about her, bringing them one step closer to the ultimate completion. He sighed deeply, appreciating the trust she bestowed on him and prayed that he was worth it.

 

They soon reached the campus grounds and were just about to turn the corner and end up at the front door of the building, where her classes were taking place, when Loki suggested in a worried voice that he tried to temper with a chuckle, “Are you sure you want your teachers and friends to see us together? I wouldn't want to get you into any trouble, now would I?”.

Andrea smirked knowingly and continued walking towards the building, but she felt resistance under her hand. When she turned around, Loki was standing as solid and unmoving as a mountain. His brows were furrowed and his lips were set in a thin line, betraying hesitance and the feeling of suddenly not belonging in such a place.

“I mean it Andrea”, was all he said before let go of her waist and took a step back, the shadow of a building concealing his already dark figure. He knew he aspired fear in most peoples' hearts and that his history with humanity was too horrible to erase. It truly wasn't his wish to drag bad blood into his relationship with her and since she was a protected member of a University, of a small academic world, eyebrows would be raised and perhaps chastising would commence. It was simple logic.

Andrea understood his concern and if she wanted to be honest, he wasn't totally wrong. Perhaps he would cause “disturbances”, but as they were reaching campus a couple of minutes ago she hadn't even bothered thinking about it. It was trivial in comparison to how she felt about and around him. And besides, there wasn't anybody to worry about her being close to the God of Mischief. Who did she have in this life anyway?

“My teachers don't have any say in who I choose to have by my side and as for friends, I don't have any”, she stated boldly, the truth of her words stinging a little, “I only have you. So, please. Don't exclude yourself as well”.

At the sound of the brave confession Loki's eyebrows went up, forming a sad triangle. He didn't know what showed in his eyes, but whatever it was, it made Andrea half smile and take a step toward him, momentarily sharing the shadow that covered him.

He allowed her to take his hand in her own and drag him in front of the enormous glass door, despite his fear that trouble would find her and that he would somehow lose her. Each step was a heavy one and with every look he cast around, he observed more and more people stopping to stare at them with various expressions on their faces. For Andrea's sake, he ignored the particularly nasty ones and chose to walk beside her with his head held high and his usual cold and stoic face that warned anyone who was watching that should they have anything to say, they'd better keep it to themselves.

They now stood in front of the door. Andrea was still holding his hand and was searching his eyes for signs of discomfort under the gazes of so many rude people, but if there were any, she didn't find them. Looking deep into those two intelligent spheres, she observed how the gloomy light of Edinburgh made them bluer and darker. The colour was so deep, so poetic that for a minute she thought about kissing his eyelids.

“Thank you for coming with me”, she said, without breaking eye contact.

Loki smiled a genuine smile, the one he reserved only for her, no matter that almost everyone on the street was watching them intently. With nimble fingers, he adjusted her grip on his hand so that he was holding hers now and brought it up to his lips. He brushed them against her knuckles, his eyes locked on hers and any bit of worry about being seen together, now completely extinguished. Her cheeks became rosy and a coy smile broke out on her face.

With their dark clothes and hand kisses, Andrea thought that they looked like a Victorian couple from a Gothic romance novel. The only thing that was missing was the rain and a graveyard with squeaking crows.

“What time do you finish?”, he asked her then, snapping her out of her daydreaming.

“Ah, four. Four o'clock”, she muttered, not sure why the question.

“Excellent. I'll come pick you up then”.

“Oh, no, Loki you don't have to. It's fine. I can do-”, but she didn't get to finish her sentence.

“No protests, little dancer. There's absolutely no reason for you to walk home alone. Now, be a good girl, and go to your lessons”, he said, using that commanding tone that made her knees weak.

He let go of her hand and she missed the contact immediately, but she knew that it was time to go inside and finally attend a lecture after two weeks.

“Alright. See you at four”, she sighed and began to walk slowly towards the door, looking at him above her shoulder as she went.

He nodded encouragingly and when he had made sure that she was safely inside the building, he turned around and started pacing back to the penthouse, revelling in how the minute he turned his back, everybody began to whisper or run.

 _Four o'clock_ , he repeated, as a sweet idea was beginning to form in his usually dark and gloomy mind. An idea consisting of a nice, hot treat he was certain she would enjoy immensely, especially after a day of copious efforts to stay concentrated. He couldn't wait to come back and pick her up and as stupidly romantic as it would sound, that was all he had on his mind, as he walked on the street, gradually realising that the city looked fine by daylight as well.

 

***

 

Five hours later, Andrea was exiting the building, feeling a strange combination of exhaustion and excitement. She pushed the glass door open and went out into the cold, wincing instantly when a sharp gush of wind hit her face. The colour of the sky had become gloomier and soon it would be darker, since the sun set early during winter. Day became night quicker than was convenient.

But she didn't have to worry about any of it, neither about the harsh weather nor about the absence of light, because Loki was waiting on the other side of the street, leaning against a red brick wall. He was holding something in his hands, but she couldn't make it out from here and so she started pacing quickly towards him. When he saw her approaching, a wide grin appeared on his face and she swore that under the street lamp light he looked like the Cheshire-Cat from Wonderland.

“Surprise”, he greeted her and she gave him a confused look. What was the surprise?

“Hi”, she replied shortly and clasped her hands behind her back, twisting her foot on the ground. “What is that?”, she said indicating with her gaze towards the item in his hands. She could now see that it was a paper cup.

Loki grinned again and offered her the cup, “That is the stomach upsetting concoction you like to drink instead of real coffee”.

Andrea looked at him with wide eyes, as her mouth started to form a big O. She took the cup in her hands, relishing in its warmth and smell.

“Nooo”, she drew out the word disbelievingly and rushed to take a deep sniff, as if she was receiving her daily heroine dose, before starting to sip experimentally. The coffee burned her tongue, but she didn't care.

“I thought that the minute we step indoors, you are going to abandon me for your books and your course work, so I decided to bribe you into my bed with...”, he paused for a moment, looking at the cup contemptuously, “... basically, milk”.

Andrea giggled at that and gulped her cinnamon scented cappuccino, purposefully ignoring his offensive words towards it. She allowed the warm liquid to wash her insides. It had been so long since she had last enjoyed one.

“Consider me sufficiently bribed”, she said with closed eyes.

Loki chuckled, but it was cut short as another wind went through their bodies, chilling their bones. Well, Andrea's bones.

“Come”, he said, putting a hand at the small of her back, “Let's start walking before you freeze”. She nodded and began pacing alongside him.

“I will never forget this you know”, she said in a matter of fact voice, but truly she was just messing around, “My hero”.

“Of course you will not. You're an addict. By giving you what you need, I become your saviour. It's in your nature”, he mocked back, making her laugh. How he revelled in that sound, it was indescribable.

“How did you know that this was my favourite coffee though?”, she asked suddenly, her voice a bit hoarse from the hotness of the beverage.

“I read your mind”, Loki answered spontaneously, not taking very seriously the fact that there was actual truth behind his words.

“Of course you did”, Andrea implored, but made no further comment on it.

For the rest of the walk home, he encouraged her to talk about what she had learned today at her lectures and she told him, without much coaxing, all about it. How playwrights of the 19 th  century couldn't compare to Shakespeare's pen and imagination. How the Victorians viewed women and how the newly discovered form of sensuality and the general sexual oppression of their era was later adapted in Gothic horror stories and how she had fallen in love with Hamlet and his fucked up psychology, for which Loki had thoroughly teased her, even as they ascended the stairs to the penthouse.

Once they were inside, Andrea did as promised and only busied herself with studying only for a couple of hours, doing some extra research on some expressionisms she couldn't comprehend in African Literature. After that though, she changed into gym shorts and a white t-shirt and jumped on the king sized bed for an early night sleep. Loki had already been dozing off for a while and so she laid on her side and waited for him to sense her on the mattress and cuddle her, like every night. But that didn't happen immediately.

Instead of caving her in with his entire body, he simply scooted closer, but not quite touching her, and tangled his fingers in her bush of hair, fisting and unfisting his fingers in it or picking up random locks, twisting them and letting them fall again. Andrea closed her eyes and let him do his thing, because from the few times he had done that, she had observed that it relaxed him. His usually tight jaw would drop and his breathing would slow down. She wasn't sure if that observation was correct, but she liked to believe that she had the certain effect on him.

Soon after his session with her hair, he finally pressed his body against her, making her feel every inch of his naked skin and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her even closer. But this time he didn't rest his hand on her stomach, as usual, but instead moved it to her belly, where he started rubbing smooth circles with his thumb. At the same time he breathed in her scent deeply and she giggled when his hot exhale landed on the back of her neck.

“Why do you always smell me?”, she asked, her voice tinged with the giggle from before.

“Because it pleases me”, he said, but his words were a bit muffled since he had already buried his entire face in her hair. Sometimes she wondered if some of it got stuck in his mouth or if they tickled his nose, but even if it happened, it didn't seem to bother him at all.

She opened her mouth to say something about it, but the words didn't come out. Her mind had suddenly gone back to a very important thing she had said earlier today. The heaviness of those words had stayed with her throughout her classes and as they walked back to the penthouse side by side, as well. She didn't know what she was thinking when she let it roll off her tongue, but it had brought that particular expression on his face that she couldn't shake. It was what had made him step out of the shadows and into the light with her, no matter the weird stares of the uni students.

And his gestures today had been more than sweet, even if he would never admit them as such. The walk, the protection, the encouraging words, the coffee... especially the coffee. It suddenly made her realise that all those things were not included in the offer he had made her, if one was to look at their situation from an objective point of view. It was clearer than ever that he was making an honest effort with her and that he was willing to allow her time to set the pace of whatever they had. How could she ever repay all that to him? The playfulness, the cheekiness, the help, even the cuddling they were doing just now. Did she even deserve all that? She was yet to dance for him, but the time would soon come and she was determined to please him as much as she could, for a dance was really nothing compared to all that he was giving her. But for now, she could at least treat him to a little piece of her truth.

“Loki?”, she called and when he hummed in response, continued, “What I said today... about... only having you, I... I meant it”. She looked down to his hand on her belly, “It sounds stupid, I know, but... I really don't have anyone else”.

Loki's eyes opened and his lips parted in preparation of what she was going to reveal next. Slowly and carefully, he propped himself on an elbow and turned her towards him by the shoulder. She put up no resistance, as he gently pushed her on her back. His hand returned to her belly and began its circular rubbing once again, attempting to soothe her enough and make her feel comfortable with sharing whatever unruly thoughts ran around inside her beautiful mind.

He sensed that she needed to talk about it, about why she had been so alone, before she met him, but he also understood that it was difficult to give up information like that. She was quite sensitive with words and not because she couldn't find any to express herself, but because saying certain things aloud took immense courage. All he could do was show her that she had his undivided attention.

Andrea closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, before squirming a little to get more comfortable. She blinked upwards to his face and noticed that he was gazing down at her expectantly, but not impatiently. As he supported himself on his elbow on the pillow, he was in the same level as her, like a soft, calm presence by her side, not imposing on her, not looming over, demanding that she explain. She gave him a sad half smile to thank him for being so considerate and decided then and there that there would be no better chance or better environment than this for her to start talking. She needed to say those things and she needed him to hear them.

Her eyes returned to the ceiling, “When I first came here, it was hard for me to adjust, not because... people weren't welcome enough or because they didn't see me as an equal, but because me and...”, she paused, trying to find the correct way to say it, “... let's just say that me and my family didn't part on the best terms. Things... happened between us that... were left unsolved, in a way. And coming here, I realised that I am dragging the wounds those things left into... pretty much everything. I don't trust people and I try to stay away from them, even when I have no reason to. It's just how I have learned to function, I guess”, she sniffed and blinked a couple of times to clear her blurry eyes from the tears.

“And sometimes I think that... other people can sense, somehow, that I'm... angry, all the time, and that's why they choose to keep their distance. I don't blame them, not at all, but at the same time, I can't change myself just because I'm lonely. Or was. I am not soft and gentle and delicate and... very feminine and friendly and all smiles, I think you can tell sometimes. I just can't... bring myself to be... so welcome to others. So... I guess my whole demeanour... pushes them away. Frankly, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I just... I wanted to explain my lack of... my lack of friends. I don't usually talk about these things, but...yeah”, she paused again to wipe her tears with her fingers, but Loki stopped her by gently removing her hand from her face and setting it on the pillow next to her head.

He propped himself on his hand, gaining a higher position, his lithe middle stretching fully before he lowered his face close to hers. Andrea watched him with a confused expression, not really knowing what his thoughts or intentions were, but he just did what he wanted anyway. He bent his head even lower and for a split second, she thought that he would kiss her, which was exactly what he did, just not where she had expected.

He placed a soft drawn out kiss on her forehead at the same time as his knuckles brushed her tears away. She shivered underneath him, a shiver so strong that it made her fingertips twitch. He heard her heartbeat quicken, like galloping horses on an unpredictable race and felt the heat emanating from her red cheeks.

With his mouth against her skin, he commented in a throaty voice, “I think your kind has never been the smartest”.

Andrea giggled, both because of his predictable derogatory input about humans and because strands of his long hair were tickling her neck deliciously. Of course he would say something low about humanity, but nevertheless, it made her smile through tears.

“What's that supposed to mean?”, she asked, another giggle breaking her voice.

“Andrea, I challenge you to open every history book and find one example, just one, where your kind did not fear itself. It's in your nature as humans. The weakest of you gather and plan the destruction of the strongest or the most different, because they pose a threat to the order of things”, he began explaining finding her curious eyes in the process and holding her gaze, “You are stronger, faster, wittier, smarter, rougher, more beautiful, more competent and confident and you have the dare to put all that to use. You are the perfect target for alienation, little dancer. Every man's wet dream and every woman's competition”, he concluded with a sly smile.

Andrea couldn't help but smirk, the praise making her feel naughty and giddy, “Now when you put it like that, it does make sense”.

They both chuckled and through it she continued, “That was a very interesting way of complementing someone”.

“I am a very interesting man”, he bargained, his eyes glimmering with mischief, seeming much greener than usual.

Andrea got lost in them for a while and she didn't know how much time had passed when she whispered, “Yes but, you, didn't alienate me”.

The sly smile got bigger in a flash and when he spoke, his voice was low and full of gruffness, “I do not push away things and people that intrigue me. I try to and succeed on making them mine”.

Her lips parted in surprise at his bold statement and she couldn't help but think that if she was a little braver she would have kissed him this instant. But she wasn't, and therefore all she did was stare at him with a shy smile on her lips, while he massaged her virgin belly affectionately.

“I didn't scare you at all?”, she inquired softly, “I do that. I scare... most men... without realising it”.

The low, menacing laugh that escaped his throat made her insides contract, “I'm not most men”.

She slowly shook her head no and whispered, “You're so different”.

“Good different or bad different?”, he teased, tickling her sides with a devious smile on his face, which only got bigger as she tried to squirm away.

“Stop it, agh”, she giggled out and thankfully he ceased his torture, “I haven't decided yet”.

Then his eyes softened and the deviousness was replaced with quiet understanding. But when he spoke, his voice was dead serious, “Well I have decided what kind of different you are, little dancer”, and then added, looking at her straight in the eyes, “You're the kind of different that shouldn't worry itself over puny people who do not appreciate potential and uniqueness”.

And then there was a moment of silence, during which Loki simply stared at her beautiful face, sliding his fingertip up and down the short length of her nose. A moment of silence, during which Andrea's heart pounded against the confines of her chest like a starved prisoner. A moment of silence, during which they settled for only existing.

“Thank you”, was all she choked out after a few minutes in blissful heaven and was rewarded with another tender kiss on her forehead.

It seemed such a strange thing, a forehead kiss, when the God of Mischief was giving it. In her mind, it came into great contrast with the way he was usually behaving. He was being sweet, but normally, he was salty and sassy and sometimes, if you weren't paying attention to his words, even offensive. But this now, this breaking of his character just for her, was precious.

He assumed his previous position, his body flopping back on the mattress, and Andrea laid on her side once again to allow him to cave her in. Covering them with the blanket almost above their heads, he hummed contently and soon had his face buried in her hair.

“Don't thank. Sleep”, he murmured and clutched at her shirt.

She obliged and closed her lids, for she was indeed feeling sleepy, and snuggled her bum against him. When he moaned, she realised what she had just done and her eyes shot open.

“Minx”, he growled in her ear, but his voice broke into a chuckle.

“Sorry”, she whispered, struggling to choke her own laughter.

 


	17. old habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea's time to meet her end of the deal has arrived. A dance the God of Mischief has requested, and a dance he will get. However, the new depth of their relationship makes the woman comfortable enough to share information about her experiences at the club, and with it, she also finds the courage to touch the God more. More than he was expecting her to, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's Thursday and with Thursdays come promised chapters! So here's chapter 17 in all its fluffy glory! To be honest with you, I'm not completely satisfied with how a certain description of 'getting into position' (you'll see), turned out in terms of phrasing and forcing to God damn make sense! But I did my best, even if I used the simplest of words. I'm really working on finding new vocabulary which might help me describe these sort of things a bit more vividly and I'm also trying to find ways to replace 'she' and 'he', which I place everywhere, all the time. I don't like it, it's repetitive. Sorry about it. 
> 
> The song featured in this chapter is Vaporous by Elsiane (it's a weird song, but I like weird songs)
> 
> **As always, pictures are burrowed from the web, found by me on pinterest, therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sunday came faster than Andrea would have liked, but since there was nothing to be done about it, she could only accept her fate and do what she had to do. Dancing for people at the club had always caused her a slight panic and when Loki had included himself in that list of individuals, things had gotten strangely weirder and more intense. So now that she was expected to dance exclusively for his eyes and pleasure, the anxiety had returned, only tenfold.

The fact that he had given her the freedom to organise it however she wanted though, was comforting, but something told her that dancing in jeans and a plain white t-shirt wouldn't particularly please him. And that was exactly the matter. She yearned to please him in the only way she knew and in the only way he had required her to. For her, it was of great significance to somehow repay all he had done and if a dance was what he wanted, a dance he would get. It hadn't been fair to indulge in his undivided attention without getting anything in return. Relationships, even unlabelled ones like their own, didn't work like that, even though he had made no comment.

Loki on the other hand, had showed absolutely no doubt or interest or generally emotion about what was going to happen tonight. He appeared to be treating this day like any other, but behind the carefully composed mask of coolness, he was burning with anticipation. It had been too long since he had seen her dance and as the minutes towards night passed by, he was becoming more and more impatient, though he didn't let it show.

He could see the internal battle in her eyes. Her inner world was switching between avoidance and determination to satisfy him. He already knew she felt a bit uncomfortable with the reality of staying with him for free and of giving nothing in return. He had read it in her thoughts more than a few times. What she didn't understand though was that her everyday presence around him, her lovely self, the seeking out of his embrace each and every time they lay on the bed and all the sweetness she was gracing only him with accompanied by the famous dance she was supposed to do tonight, were more that he could have asked for, especially in such short amount of time. He could only hope that in the future, when they would be even closer in all aspects, she would come to realise how important she had been to him all along.

So far, their day had been quiet. They had both been sitting on opposite sides of the leather couch, reading their books, not paying much mind to what the other was doing. They hadn't even noticed how the sun had gradually abandoned the sky, making the rooftops of the buildings outside dark and haunting.

When Andrea thought of checking her phone for the first time, she saw that it was 21:00 o'clock. She took a deep breath and with no further due, set both phone and book on the couch and sat straighter on top of one leg to take a better look at Loki.

He caught her gaze immediately and held it fiercely without so much as a blink of his eye. She nodded a couple of times and that was his signal to put his own book down and sit up straighter as well. The little dancer was ready to dance.

She got up then and headed for the bathroom, disappearing inside it for a few moments, before getting out and going into the closet to wear something more appropriate.

In the meantime, Loki adjusted the living room to suit her needs. With a snap of his fingers both the coffee table and the carpet under it, disappeared and in their place, a metallic pole planted itself from floor to ceiling. Thankfully, the penthouse had quite the high ceiling and so there would be enough aerial space for Andrea to climb if she wanted. Next, he dimmed the lights, leaving on only the hidden ones between the bookshelves to create a darker, more sensual atmosphere and lastly, he magicked small black speakers into existence, so that the little dancer could connect her phone and magnify the sound of the song. Since they didn't have a specialist to be in charge of the music, they would have to take care of it themselves.

In the closet, Andrea decided to wear her pair of lacy pearl white panties and on top of that, her cream white baby doll with the flower embroidery on the cleavage area. Originally, she had wanted to go for something more modest, but after experimentally putting it on, and what is more, without a bra, she had decided that it was the perfect choice.

The moment she had laid eyes upon the light fabric reflecting in the mirror, hugging her thighs just at the tops and complimenting her slightly darker skin tone, she had felt confident and bold enough to leave it on. The absence of a bra made it all the more enticing and even though going without was a risky thing to do, she just didn't feel like it was necessary. At least, that is how she felt at the moment, alone in this closet. Who knew how she would feel in front of him. At the thought of how easily he would spot her tightened nipples through the fabric, a shiver ran down her spine and her cheeks gained their usual rosy shade. But then again, it was stupid to worry over that, since he had already seen almost everything there was to be seen on her naked self, the incident at the club being the most graphic.

 

So, with a deep breath and relaxed shoulders, she stepped out of the closet and headed to the living room, when suddenly her eyes widened as she took in the additions.

Low lights and a pole had taken the place of brighter light, coffee table and carpet and if she wanted to be honest, the space looked much better like this, if one was to put aside the practicalities. Glancing towards the hidden lights, between the shelves, she spotted a pair of speakers, resting between “Paradise Lost” and “ The Count Of Monte Cristo”. _You've been thorough_ , she thought with raised eyebrows.

Clearing her throat, quite audibly, to get his attention, she paced around the couch to retrieve her phone and the minute Loki glanced at her, his lips parted and she could swear that his eyes widened slightly. When, randomly, she cast a look at his hands, she saw that he had his fingers dug into his jeans, as if trying to restore lost control. He didn't say anything, only kept staring at her with an unreadable expression that made her a little anxious.

She took her phone in her hand and after straightening her back to look leaner and more graceful, she found the courage to ask, while twisting her toes on the floor, something she did a lot over the last days, “Is it... is it okay?”.

Loki felt like a hormonal fifteen year old who was seeing a woman for the first time, but in his defence, her beauty was disarming and her ignorance of it, infuriating. He couldn't possibly open his mouth wider to answer her question, so he only nodded.

She smiled and walked over to the shelf, while his eyes followed every step she took. For as long as she had her back to him, probably trying to find a song, Loki couldn't tear his gaze from the backs of her thighs. It was impossible to cease thinking about how lovely the tender skin would look after a good, thorough spanking. He craved to bring his hand down hard just to see the flesh heat up from the impact and leave a print. The results of these thoughts of course, were the torturous stirrings of arousal. He was semi hard already and unfortunately, the tip of his cock rubbing against the fabric of his jeans was not helping the situation at all. But he would keep himself under control and perhaps, before going to bed, he would have a cold shower.

Andrea finally picked a song, after maniacally scrolling through the playlists on her phone in search of something a little romantic, a little slow and a little sexy. It was difficult to find such a song, when her phone was full of heavy metal and hard rock and for this night, she didn't think that dancing to Deftones on the pole was a good idea.

Climbing and acrobatics always drained her and since she had stopped her running routine, her stamina wasn't at its highest levels, so any strenuous activity, she feared, would have her crawling on the floor for help. Thankfully, the song she had found didn't belong in the kinds above. It was calm and semi slow, which meant that she had the opportunity for more languid moves.

She pressed play, -awash in the natural reluctance to share her personal music with others-, and walked over to the metal tube, turned and wrapped her fingers around it, pulling at it a bit as if to test its balance and strength. It was, of course, Loki had made sure of it, but it was a habit she had acquired from her days on the stage. She had always needed something to hold on to tightly, seeking some sort of comfort, while men all around whistled and shouted and commented on her tits and her ass and her legs and every body part they laid eyes upon.

But, a quick glance above her shoulder, as she began to work her waist and pelvis, reminded her that she was dancing only for one man, a man different than the others. Controlled, soundless, appreciative and respectful. Right now, she was delivering her part of the deal, as she would do for every Sunday to follow, and instead of exhibiting pettiness and impatience for her to move, he was quiet and in some way, inviting, allowing her to find her rhythm and relax.

“... _you got to know_... _I'm always in the way_... _upside down to you_...”. Loki breathed heavily, as he watched her walk around the pole, dropping her head backwards a couple of times or stretching her neck from side to side, either because she wanted to warm up or torture him. Whichever the case, it had the same effect. She moved lethargically, dragging her legs and occasionally curling her toes to draw random patterns on the floor with equal innocence and precision. Her hips swaying slowly from side to side, resembling the walk of a sleepy white cat. She was heaven on Earth and the sight of her, so peaceful, so serene, made him smile.

“... _don't leave me alone_... _standing here forever_...”. Andrea felt her skin burn under his seductive gaze and noted in surprise how different the feeling was now. A couple of weeks ago, that same burn caused her shame and only added to the revulsion she experienced when people were watching her as she glided on the floor, rubbed her body on it or swung around. But now, the short glimpses she kept taking at Loki's dark eyes, filled her with the confidence she needed to engage more and more with the metal. As she slid down on the pole and back up again, she looked at him as he looked at her and there was a mischievous sparkle in his irises that made her heart pound faster.

“... _I'm a little girl._.. _boiled into mature_... _little piece of work_...”. A small smile found its way to her lips, as she got a good grip on the pole and bent her waist backwards, so much so that her short hair almost touched the floor. Before the blood pressure became too much, she caressed her side and teasingly rubbed down to her belly and inner thigh. She let her hand drop slowly, as she began to gradually straighten her spine and come back into a standing position once again, substantially dizzy.

Loki was dazzled by the beauty of her tall and lean muscles, each of them stretching and flexing in a way that brought him closer and closer to the edge. But the satisfaction wasn't only carnal, but also spiritual, for in front of him danced a completely different version of Andrea.

She was looser, freer and perhaps even happier, as she twisted and turned. The adorable flash on her cheeks and chest were evident still, betraying heat and arousal, but those too seemed somehow different. He thought that it was probably because they were alone, safely secluded in a place where she felt welcome to blush and feel nice about herself and not in a dirty stage with hundreds of men eyeing her rudely and whistling at her. It made a lot of sense, and so he decided to pick that explanation, although he wouldn't dismiss requesting Andrea's thoughts on the subject.

As she made love to the pole, his memories drifted back to all the previous times at the club, when he hadn't allowed himself anything more than words and a slight touch of his lips on her knuckles. Until Sunday night, he hadn't ventured further than that. Yet even when they had found themselves in that difficult situation in the private room, their bond, their special connection had given her the confidence, no matter how frail, to trust him with her body and be guided. Right then, they had managed to reach a whole other level of freedom. The freedom of trusting their bodies in one another's arms.

When she had been unable to keep the dreadful memories under control, he had subdued her and after a while, what had originally been her attempt at putting distance between them, became an attempt at limiting it. He would never forget how she had clung to him and how she had wept with her face buried in his chest, nor the strange feeling in his stomach when he had woken up with her, still sweetly attached to him.

He had healed her, had been so close to parts of her body that no one had before and had breathed in her scent. The scent that identified her, her pussy, her perfume, her sweat. And even when she had decided to put the distance between them, he had resumed wanting her. He was disgustingly in need of her presence, her touch, her voice and when they had reunited after so many days apart, he had been grateful to witness that she had been suffering too.

Before they had even realised it, they had reached a point where his naked body against her own clothed one was something natural and welcome. There was no shying away, no hiding her face or chewing her words every time his manhood nudged at her from behind, no need to separate themselves from one another. It was undeniable that they were connecting rapidly and as he tilted his head to the side to observe the compelling expression on her face, he couldn't help but think what other things they would achieve, now that Christmas, or Yule, or whatever the humans called it these days, was coming, free days during which the constant proximity could very possibly reach a more amorous peak.

“... _on and on_... _on and on_...”. Andrea wrapped a leg around the pole and bent her body to the waist towards Loki's direction. She watched him watch her from upside down and blushed red at the little smile playing on his lips and the unhidden lust in his eyes. His gaze was like a caress to her naked skin. When the violins interrupted the steady beat of the song, she ran her knuckles against her clavicles and the sides of her neck, pushing her hair back in the process and let her arms stretch outwards, like a swan. Slowly, her baby doll tightened around her middle and chest area and as it grazed against her naked breasts, her nipples peaked through, instantly brought to attention, to the point where they itched. She wasn't truly naked, but she felt like it, and the thing was that she couldn't care less.

During the last minute of the song, she lifted herself and settled for swaying her hips slowly with her forehead pressed against the metal tube, satisfied with her performance. When the music finally came to an end, she opened her eyes and stood there, still, unsure of what to do next or how to behave, but thankfully Loki's mellifluous voice reached her ears and gave her direction.

“How did you feel?”, was his question, as he extended a welcoming hand towards her.

Andrea didn't waste any time and slipped her exhausted fingers in his palm allowing him to pull her down on the couch. As she climbed on it and got comfortable, he turned her hand and kissed her knuckles tenderly.

They were sitting side by side now, her long legs stretched out on the couch's cushions, her feet hanging off it just a bit. His arm came around her shoulders in an embrace, urging her to drop her head either on his chest or back on his bicep. Andrea chose instead to lay in the space where shoulder and clavicle met and although it was a bit uncomfortable, due to the bone underneath, it was the perfect position for her, because she had access on his entire face, from the sharp jawline to the beauty of his dark eyes.

She relaxed against him and focused on slowing down her breathing, “Different than all the other times I've danced”.

Loki looked down at her face, his observations from before confirmed, and bopped her nose with his fingertip. She giggled like a little child.

“Different how?”, he pressed, his voice smooth as silk.

“Remember that night... at the club, after you cast the illusion and we were left alone?”, she said, her eyes still closed.

“You were sitting on my lap with my coat around your shoulders. Your beautiful hands were in mine...”, he paused to take one in his own and entwine their fingers, “... like this”.

Andrea smiled contently. A wide, full teeth smile that made him smile too. She caressed the side of his hand with her thumb and continued talking in a low, tired voice, while he observed the movement of her lips, struggling not to kiss them.

“You told me that I talk to you when I dance and that you listen. I didn't know what you meant till now. I hadn't realised how it worked. At first, I just thought you were sweet talking me into saying yes to your offer without thinking the terms over”, he threw his head back and chuckled at that, making her eyes pop open, wrinkles on their corners from smiling, “What? What was I supposed to think? You were all serious and romantic and you talked like some character from Byron's poems. What could have possibly been honest about that... about that stance?”, she paused again, waiting for him to finish his fit of chuckles.

“A Byron character? You do me dirty, little one.”

“Are you done laughing? Can I continue?”, she said, giggling herself.

“Yes, yes, sorry, I do apologise. Go on”, he assured quickly and got into serious mode again.

Andrea tried to summon back the words she was going to say, before he'd interrupted her. She played with the tips of her fingers for a bit, in an attempt to relax and express what was really on her mind.

“I was talking, I think. I just hadn't realised it. You see I... each time I went up on that stage I thought of nothing. I just wanted to do my part, get... get naked and get paid for it, then leave and forget what happened, only to relive it the next night. It was my job. It was a vicious circle, but there was nothing to be done about it. Dancing is... a form of expression indeed, but I never wanted to communicate anything to the men that watched me. Perhaps, subconsciously, I was, but none of them had ever noticed, until...”, she gave him a quick look, slightly indicating with her head towards him, “... you did. You did notice. And when you looked at me that first night... it was different from how all the others were looking at me”.

Her eyes went to the ceiling, as the next part could not be uttered with their eyes locked, “At first I thought it was pity. It would make sense. She is young, beautiful, so to speak, broke, alone. She ended up on the pole for the money. You had every right to believe that. It wasn't a lie. Then I thought that I had imagined it. That would make sense too. I was dizzy from the lights. I was tired and numb, perhaps I didn't see well. Perhaps you weren't even there. Perhaps I imagined you, because I wanted to have something nice in my mind while I danced to earn a living. But you were there. Solid, real. And when I was done dancing I tried to convince myself that you were just impressed by the place and the goods and that you saw something you wanted to-”, a tear slid down her cheek, as she remembered all the horrible thoughts she had weaved about him in their first days of being around one another. The word she wanted to utter, suddenly sounded too heavy, but she had to say it. She had to be honest.

“I thought you saw something you wanted to fuck. A... a whore that you could take upstairs. That's why I... when you asked me my name, that's why I was so quick to tell you that I only danced in that place.”

Loki's eyes shut for a moment as he heard those words. They hurt him, although he had no right to feel so. She wasn't assuming wrongly. The first two days, he had been indeed of the opinion that he could get her underneath him, have his way and then see what would come out of it. But on the third night, when he had seen her so upset, so alone, screaming with no sound in that tin box of an apartment, something had changed inside him and he had decided instantly that there was more to her than what met the eye. She wasn't the woman that you could use as a fuck doll. Take advantage and then dismiss, as if she had been a frivolity of the moment. He wouldn't allow himself to treat her as such. A voice in him, probably his mother's, screamed that he was a better man than that.

So he squeezed her fingers, attempting to urge her on talking, because it was important that he know all this and that he pay attention. It was rare for her to open up. To use her words and speak so intimately. Thus, he had to show her that he respected that fact and that her effort had meaning to him.

“It had scared me. How you looked at me. But then, it happened again and again and I realised that there was something wrong with my first thoughts. I began to see you... differently and to try to understand if other men looked at me like that, but none did. You were always there, at the front seat... I felt like I had your attention. Like, I could dance and actually enjoy it, because somehow I knew that... that you weren't there for... for the stripping. Perhaps I thought too big of myself, but that's how I felt, and usually I act upon what I feel. It takes all of my courage, but I act. And so, for the following week, every time I went up on the stage or took an extra shift, behind the bar or serving, it was...”, she paused and shifted her gaze to the leather strap around his wrist, “... because of you. Every bit of effort. Every offering. It was my way of thanking you. For not... treating me as the other men treated me. For not looking at me like I was some kind of treat they could tear apart if they only chose to take a walk backstage. No one would have stopped them, anyway. So, yeah, I was speaking to you in my own way, we just had to... we just had to be alone for me to fully realise it. I guess tonight I thanked you again. In my way. And... I told you that I feel free. Free from other men's gazes, unwanted ones. I'm doing this, dancing, only for you and there's freedom in that. Somehow. I don't know if I make any sense, but that's how I feel”, she concluded and finally turned her eyes towards his face. She was met with warmth and understanding and something between uncontrollable lust and absolute control.

He put his hand on the side of her neck, his warm palm calming her nerves completely. He looked into her eyes, deep and intimate and holding that gaze, he thanked her.

“You've been very brave in telling me all that, little one. Perhaps you will never fully understand how honoured I am by your words and your past actions, perhaps you already do. I must confess, though, that your initial thoughts about me were not all that wrong”, he admitted, his eyes turning apologetic.

“It's okay, Loki, I know”, she rushed to assure, “I know. It's natural. I understand that”.

“Will you forgive me?”, he pleaded with her.

“There's nothing to forgive. We didn't... know each other. And... and... in all honesty, we're still learning”.

“True, but it doesn't change the fact that the first time I entered that place, I _did_ see something I wanted to fuck. I was cruel. I didn't care”, he stated boldly.

Andrea swallowed thickly, but kept her ground, determined not to let him take this fault upon himself, “Okay. And I sensed it, so I kept my distance and it was for the best. Besides... well, it was kind of flattering... to feel this... wanted”.

“Was it now?”, he suggested, his voice dropping an octave lower.

She blinked her confirmation and struggled to keep back her shy half smile.

“But I scared you, darling. Even though you insisted otherwise when I first asked you. Do you remember that?”.

“I wasn't lying to you. I truly wasn't scared. Flustered? Yes? Shocked? Very. But not scared. Anyway, why are we still talking about it? I now feel the safest I've ever felt in a long time and it's all thanks to you. Please, know that”, she argued softly.

He nodded in agreement and dropped the subject, sensing that her tolerance with talking extensively about things was wearing thin. But he had to assure her of some very simple truths established between them and thus, she would have to withstand him a little longer.

“I wish to always make you feel like that. Safe enough to trust me with a piece of your mind, because, rest assured, I will insist vigorously in knowing what goes on in that beautiful head of yours. Until this moment, I felt as if I had no right to ask you to do that, but now, I'd like to believe that we share something deeper. And that something, whatever it is, enables us to talk openly to each other”, he caressed her cheek with his thumb and smiled, “Look how much you felt comfortable telling me tonight. I wish for this to always be the case between us, little one. Are we in clear?”, he bargained smoothly, his eyes darting between her eyes and lips.

Andrea smiled warmly up at him and nodded, “Of course. But Loki...”.

His brows furrowed, “Tell me”.

She chewed her lip and looked down, “ I am not the talkative type. I guess you can tell by now. Sometimes, I don't know how to talk about... stuff. Maybe, I don't know the words, or maybe I do and they just wont come easily. And there are times when I want, more than anything, to speak, but I just bite my tongue, because that's what I've always been doing in my life. I don't want you to believe that when that happens, it's because I don't want to talk to you. I do, but I can't always”.

For a minute he remained silent, his expression serious and stoic, as he tried to find explanations as to why this beautiful and eloquent woman couldn't speak or chose not to. Why was her default reaction not to talk? What was bothering her? What was stopping her? What had happened to her?

There were two ways to find that out. He could either invade her mind and get his answer, unbeknownst to her, or he could wait until she was ready to tell him, at some point in the future. He chose the second option and altered his expression to a little grin and a raised eye brow.

His long thumb brushed against her lower lip. He teased it for a bit, rolling it back and forth, exposing her lower line of teeth, just for the fun of it. She just lay there and let him do as he pleased, with a coyness in her eyes that was arousing him greatly.

“Then you show me Andrea”, he said in a low, seductive voice, before leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead. When he resumed talking, his lips brushed against her skin and the vibrations of his voice penetrated the shell of her brain. “You show me what you want. What you need, little one. It's quite simple, really. Use your eyes, your body. I will understand without words. I have to”.

Andrea let out a shaky breath, but did not fail to make it known that she understood his bargain. A nod would have to be sufficient, since that was all she would master at the moment. The close proximity was killing her and thoughts of him lowering those thin, experienced lips to her own, wouldn't stop violating her mind. But even though the images in her head were intense, her body lay relaxed and warm, close to his own.

“I promise I will”, she whispered somewhat breathlessly and looked up into his eyes, “Promise me too”.

He drew away slowly, chuckling bitterly, “Careful what you wish for”.

“No, I mean it Loki”, she shook her head and next thing he knew, her hand was resting on his chest, the fabric of his shirt twisted between her delicate fingers, “It's not fair that I have all the freedom to be myself around you. You should... you should have the same chance. If there is anything you want to show me or tell me, please don't hold it back. Just do it. Promise me”. Seeing how she insisted, a new grin broke out on his face.

It was her acceptance that made him feel like his heart would explode in his chest. What had he done to deserve to cross paths with this woman? What good, what kindness had he committed in order for her to be so nice and open to him? A man for whom she knew little. And knowing that she trusted others with difficulty, he felt especially honoured to have what she gave to a few, perhaps even none.

“I promise”, and it was a promise he would keep.

It pleased her to hear him say it aloud and so she rewarded him with a quick smile, before she dropped her head back on his arm and thanked him in a sleepy voice.

“For what little one?”, he asked confused, as he ran his fingers through her hair, brushing them back and away from her face.

“For trusting me too. I feel kind of... special, because of it. Like me, you don't seem the type to trust just anyone”, she stated with honesty, but after that, she said nothing else and allowed herself to enjoy his touch.

He didn't answer, nor gave any sign of emotion to validate her words, even though they were right. Andrea sensed that the absence of words was confirmation. His silence spoke volumes. And silence, in her experience was a heavy thing and complex in its simplicity. So she decided not to press him about it, but trust him enough to bring the matter up on his own, when he would feel comfortable.

They stayed quiet like that for a long time, side by side. His arm around her shoulders, her leaning back on it, more relaxed than she had ever felt before , until she started dozing off, slipping in and out of sleep. Her head dropped to the side a couple of times, making her senses return abruptly and forcing her back into consciousness. Loki chuckled when he noticed and after placing a soft kiss on her forehead, withdrew his arm from where it rested and got up.

Andrea knew this was a sign that they would retire for the night and so she tried to get up from the couch too, but she was stopped by Loki leaning in close to her. In her sleepiness and slight disorientation, she gasped when he sneaked an arm under her knees. The other wrapped itself around her upper body. He lifted her from the couch with ease, as if she weighed nothing, and the minute she felt herself aviated, she clutched at his shirt, wanting to rip it and hide herself inside him. She nuzzled her face against his chest, noting that never before in her life had she been so needy, gentle and affectionate with another being. When she was with him, she felt mature enough to act sweetly, not fearing the consequences of it and not interpreting it as a weaknesses of sorts. _Yeah, I can be sweet with you_ , she decided and smiled with eyes drifting shut.

He set her down on the bed and covered her with the blanket up to her shoulders, but she pushed it down to her waist, mumbling something about being hot. Loki grinned at her protests and let her have it her way.

He stripped down to nothing, noticing with relief that his hardness had eased out sufficiently and got into bed and under the covers, straightening his body beside an already half asleep Andrea. But when he tried to shift her over to her other side so that he could cuddle her, like every night, she pushed his hand away and told him to leave her like this.

He found it strange that she would ask that, since they had never slept like that before. The idea that he wouldn't get to hold her tonight filled him with a sadness so profound that it triggered guilt. _Have I done something wrong?,_ he thought, but couldn't bring himself to ask.The words stung even though they possibly held truth. It wouldn't be surprising. Him acting the way he shouldn't and regretting it later was the story of his life. It was almost natural that the time would come when he would do something wrong to the person he only ever wanted to do right by.

So as his thoughts burned him alive and as the doubts clawed all over his mind, he adjusted the pillow under his head, not positive that sleep would take him tonight. He convinced himself that sleeping face to face was intimate too, perhaps even more intimate than she could handle and that perhaps by doing so, she was giving him something more. But he longed for contact with her body and the lack of it on him, against him, inside him, was unbearably frustrating.

He kept going back to her words tonight. To her brave confessions and trusting gazes, attempting to find out anything he might have missed. A reason as to why she didn't want his arms around her or his front against her back, but there was nothing. She had been completely relaxed and herself all evening.

Just then, Andrea shifted on the bed and sat up tiredly, supporting herself on one hand while rubbing an eye with the other. He gazed up at her, confused and worried, but she didn't look back at him. Instead she stared at the mattress between their bodies with parted lips and arched, thick brows.

He sensed that there was something she wanted to say, but whatever it was she found great difficulty in expressing it. Perhaps this was one of the moments she had described to him earlier. A moment in which she knew not how to talk about a matter that troubled her, despite her desire to push it out and receive his feedback.

Her emotions, as he read them, were not conclusive and so he sought answers in her thoughts, desperate for an explanation. Penetrating the shell of her mind, he listened to a mess of words that unfortunately had him even more puzzled, but intrigued as well.

 _Just, just do it, alright_... _You want it_... _You promised him_... _If you want something take it_... _Do it, he wont chastise you for it_ , _it might please him too_... _Why is this so difficult_... _Shut up_ , _this is wrong_ , _it's too soon_... _I can't do this_... _He doesn't want me to do this_... _It's weird, I don't even know how to do it right... I've never... I want to do this, it's selfish_... _I shouldn't be thinking like that_... _I want him_... _God, I want him so much_... _It's okay to do it like that, I guess_... _I want his heartbeat, I want to hear it_...

Loki sat there with a dumbfounded look on his face, a look he was glad she didn't see, and tried to understand what she wanted from him. What she needed. He thought about pushing her to say it, spit it out, but that could possibly lead to her losing even the bit of nerve she already had.

 _I want him_... _God, I want him_... Her words echoed in his mind. His feelings were being requited and that alone prevented him from forming coherent thoughts of his own. All he felt like doing was somehow push her to act how she wanted. _I want him... I want him so much..._ Whatever she needed he would provide, whatever it took. And thus, he did what they always did with each other. He extended his hand, palm upwards and waited.

Andrea sensed the movement and quickly snapped her eyes towards him. She searched over his face with furrowed eyebrows and noticed that his expression was soft, gentle and above all welcoming. He was being honest before, he didn't need her words. He only wished for her to be herself, showing him, not necessarily telling him what she had in mind. But what she wanted tonight, was difficult to both say and seek out and she found herself not able to summon enough courage. Yet the way he looked at her, almost as if he knew what she was thinking, made her heart clench with guilt for being so slow and such a coward.

She didn't know why she suddenly wanted it so much. There was no way to explain it even to herself. She just had to, for some reason, touch him. To return his caresses and his hold from all the previous nights, not because she felt that it was necessary to return the kindness, but because she simply wanted to put her hands on him. It was an urge engraved into her DNA and an urge that she had never tested out on anyone before. This fact alone, made it all the more scary.

Tentatively she touched his palm with her fingertips, but did not surrender her whole hand. Instead, she caught his wrist gently and readjusted her posture, so that her legs were gathered under her. He was watching her intently, and that didn't help her feel at all comfortable, but she went about her business anyway, trying to be brave and assert control over the situation.

She lifted herself on her knees, bending forward a little, and placed his hand on the soft pillow, next to his head. Thankfully, he was already on his side and so she wouldn't have to move him onto it. He remained in the position she put him with no resistance and suddenly, a little bit of pride surged through her as she noted how submissive he was to her. How he had so easily surrendered his body. She was usually the one with the extremely subservient nature and somehow she had never given any thought to how she might feel if a man seemed all too eager to subject himself in her mercy. It was empowering.

Feeling the waves of confidence coursing within her, she slowly pulled the covers away from his body and exposed him completely. He didn't even flinch and in his eyes, which penetrated her entire face, there was not a single sign of self consciousness, not even a blush to accompany his nakedness. Her cheeks though, were burning fiery, as her gaze drifted from his unashamed face to his solid chest and unwavering middle muscle and back up again. She resisted looking further down, because if she dared, she would lose all her nerve.

Then, as if waking up from a trance that had lasted too long, she scooted closer to him and laid on her side, intent on keeping her eyes locked to his own to assure herself that he was not uncomfortable in any way. She pushed her body further down, so that her head didn't rest on the pillow, but on the mattress instead, close to his bare chest. Without delaying it any more, she nuzzled her face against his skin and pressed her body to his fully. To make sure that every inch oh him touched her, she very timidly extended her hand upwards, to where his own was resting on the pillow, and took it gently. She placed it on her waist and gasped when, as if by instinct, Loki squeezed her flesh firmly and pulled her roughly towards him, utterly connecting their bodies. But that was the only act of dominance from his side, before giving control back to her. After a quiet groan from deep within his chest, he relaxed his grip and Andrea found her chance to continue with her plan.

She was aware that, in this position, her head to his chest and her body pressed to his lower sections, his rather large member was being squashed between them and probably hitting against her pubic bone in the most uncomfortable way possible. So she squeezed her hand over his on her waist and guided it downwards on her bare outer thigh, which she lifted just slightly to indicate what she was trying to do.

It was truly magnificent how he caught her meaning immediately and glided his hand further down without her assistance, finding quickly that tender spot behind her knee. He lifted his upper body just a little to get a better hold and without warning, he gently lifted her entire leg, draping it over the part where the end of his spine met his arse. The position allowed his member to slip in between her spread legs and rest heavily and comfortably on her inner thigh. But in doing so, the upper side of his shaft grazed against the lace of her panties, making him hiss sharply.

His chest against her cheek rose and fell somewhat quicker than before and for a brief moment, she felt like the older woman trying to teach an untried boy how to properly touch a woman in order to please her. She had no idea where that thought had come from, but she guessed that it had probably stemmed from her earlier demonstration of dominance and the general way of her unexpected handling.

Half lifted as he was, he peered down at her with a wicked grin on his face, but also with a slight surprise and something like admiration playing in his irises. Andrea lifted her face, her luscious lips brushing against his skin, and caught that gaze, but didn't hold it for long, as standing up like that had begun to tire him and he soon laid back down. His hand left her thigh, but that wasn't what she wanted. It was a last minute call, but she had a different place for his hand in mind.

“No”, she whimpered, her breath landing teasingly against his chest. His hand instantly stopped mid air. She took it and placed it on her thigh once again, cursing at herself because of how desperate and whiny her voice had sounded .

“Show me”.

It was the first time she heard his voice since her little endeavour had begun. Its ragged vibrations hit her right between the legs, activating the most annoying tickle she had ever felt. It wasn't a lie that she was already wet, nearly since the moment he had laid eyes on the baby doll adorning her body. But she was used to being wet around him by now. It was unavoidable and so she had accepted it. But the constant throbbing of her lady bits was something that hadn't been present since that Sunday night and the day after that, when he had healed her with his magic. It was as if they had gone through a period during which carnal needs had remained dormant and so that part of her, the part that mostly wanted to be touched, caressed and brought to pleasure, had stayed quiet. But at this moment, his voice had triggered it back to life and suddenly even the feel of her panties rubbing against the sides of her thighs was intense. But she could handle it for now. There was no way to tell what would happen in the morning, when they would wake up like this, still pulsing with need for one another, but their sense of control seemed unwavering for the time being. She decided to rely on that.

She pushed the horny thoughts away and returned her concentration to their still hands on her thigh. She started pushing his hand upwards, guiding it slowly up the length of her juicy flesh, feeling how his fingers splayed under her own and dug themselves into her skin, leaving a faint pink trail behind. The hands reached the curve of her arse and it suddenly seemed to her that the entire expanse of one cheek could fit in his hand perfectly. He gave it a little squeeze and Andrea giggled, as she wasn't expecting it.

 _Naughty_ , she thought amusingly, as she continued to guide him, this time sneaking their combined hold under her baby doll.

 _Oh, I am the naughty one? What you're doing all night is naughty, minx_ , he thought with the same amusement, but as soon as his hand came into contact with her naked waist, underneath the thin piece of fabric, the amusement broke out into a smile and a sharp inhale of breath.

Her hand stopped moving and squeezed his own and he took it as a sign that he should halt there, because that was as far as she was willing to take him and he chose to respect that, despite his torturous urge to caress the entirety of her naked back. He settled for rubbing the spot where her waist bent into a mild V, almost connecting the edge of her ribcage with her hipbone and happily noted that there was a a lovely mass of extra skin there to dig his fingertips into. He briefly adjusted his other arm, so that it went underneath her head and came around her shoulders to mould her closer. She seemed to enjoy this crashing grip so much that she let out sigh after sigh, bathing him in the tired, whiny sounds that escaped from her mouth, as her body finally relaxed.

He kissed the top of her head, easily, since it was safely tucked under his chin and prayed to all the deities he knew existed that they would bless them with this sleeping position each and every night. And then he silently prayed to Andrea to grant him this gift of crouching and shielding herself in his immediate hold, for the rest of their days or until they got too hot and couldn't stand one another's temperature any longer. He didn't believe that this moment between them could go any better, until it did.

The little dancer's hand came up and she sneaked it underneath his arm to rest it on his side muscles, with a tenderness he had never been subjected to before. She began tracing his bones with the tips of her fingers, at first shyly, experimentally, not really knowing what she wanted to do. But it was thrilling for him nonetheless.

Her touch was so light that it made him question whether or not she was actually touching him or if he was imagining the whole thing, but soon his doubt was shoved aside as her hand dropped further down to the defined muscle on the small of his back. With her forefinger she caressed the dip at the base of his spine. He couldn't do anything else, but shiver pleasantly against her. Instinctively, he gripped at her waist harder, absent-mindedly grinding his hips, urging her on to touch him more. She understood.

Her fingers went upwards, climbing the steps of his spine slowly, until they reached his upper back. She began to draw aimless patterns there, soothing him to the point where his breathing became shallow and his eyes flattered closed. Her fingers were the paintbrush and his skin was the canvas. Her breath was hot against his chest and each time she exhaled, it felt like the sweetest burn. His steely flesh was melting against her, bit by bit, and he wasn't even sure if she knew that she had that effect on him.

She started to rub the always tense spot between his shoulder blades, at first tenderly and then with a bit more strength, until he gasped and groaned. The muscle there suddenly felt like jelly and all the tension he had felt day in and day out and could only soothe when under hot water, was instantly released.

In that moment, he thought that it was unclear who offered comfort and safety to whom. His offer concentrated on her and her alone. He had never hinted or implied that he wanted certain things from her, although it was the truth. He had chosen to omit them, because they would perhaps shock her and lead her to a negative answer. So, he had instead stated very vaguely why he wanted her under his roof, in his bed and wrapped in his arms. But right now, the lines were blurry.

She was the one offering the warmth of her body directly to him. She was the one who rubbed the tension away. She was the one who soothed him to sleep and guided his soul to complete relaxation. He was holding her too and he was absent mindedly caressing the bend of her waist, but it didn't come close to what she was doing to him. Up until this moment, he hadn't realised that he longed for the things he offered her freely. A long time ago he had nurtured no expectations of ever receiving them from another being and hadn't even considered himself worthy of them. But here he was, with the perfect woman in his arms, being lulled to sleep like a baby by her touch and warmed up with her heat, crouched over her protectively, while in reality she was the one protecting him. How could _he_ , a God, feel in need of such things? It was absurd, it was unheard of. But that hand felt too wonderful and his heart was swelling with more and more of... something.

Everything he thought he knew had somehow altered from the moment he met Andrea. Every single thing he had discovered about this world and its people and even about himself, was expanding and then getting smaller, simpler at the same time. It was as thrilling as much as it was confusing.

Just before he fell asleep, he murmured against her hair, “Do you understand now?”, and briefly tightened his arms around her.

It didn't register to Andrea why he'd asked that, but she was too tired to inquire explanations. And apparently so was he, because after a minute or two she heard his sweet snoring sounds and knew that she had done one thing right, if nothing else.

She had soothed someone who was secretly in intense pain, while indulging in the one thing she was longing for all her life. Touch.

 


	18. tactile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Andrea's brave effort to drop her guard and bring herself closer to Loki, more things come to light. Things about her inner workings that she'd told no one before. Until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. How have you been? Holding up okay? Here's chapter 18. I hope its fluffness drowns your sorrows and worries and gives you something to swoon over. Or I'm just thinking too big of myself, ehehe. Excuse any mistakes, I edited it pretty quickly and my head wasn't entirely there. 
> 
> Something I'd like to mention is that sensory issues (usually heightened or insufficient) are a neurological phenomenon and CAN actually be linked to anger management. I've checked its accuracy as an idea as best I could, before writing it into my fanfic. If you're interested of course, you can do your own research. 
> 
> *As always, pictures are burrowed from the wed, found on pinterest by me one of those moments when I had nothing better to do with my life, and therefore, their rights belong to their respective owners. 
> 
> Enjoy! See you next Thursday! Kisses!

The grey morning light of Edinburgh shone down on the two figures in the bed and, as if they felt its insufficient warmth, they stirred at the same time into wakefulness.

Loki felt the little dancer move against his somewhat dormant body, her hot lips unintentionally brushing against his chest, informing him sweetly that she was gaining consciousness as well. A small smile tugged at his lips when she nuzzled her mouth yet again, like a little kitten wanting to wake her master up, so in return he squeezed and rubbed her waist, from the curve to the end of her spine. Upon hearing a moan of approval that went straight down to his cock, sparking it into what he hoped wasn't a full erection, he moved his hand up to the entirety of her naked back. Underneath the flimsy fabric of the baby doll, he began ascending the staircase of vertebrae with the tips of his fingers, and when she hummed in pleasure, he added a little force to the touch to massage the numbness of her body away. The feeling of her soft skin against his hand felt heavenly and he found himself instantly praising her in his mind for that extra coat of healthy fat, mostly concentrated at her sides, waist and thighs, feeling proud of her for her lack of insecurity over it. It was strangely satisfying to have a good full grip on her. He briefly wondered if all men found this to be attractive.

Yet he didn't dwell on coherent thoughts for long. It was still too early in the morning for putting one's brain to work, and so he shut his mind down and settled for giving his beautiful dancer a relaxing rub, slowly rousing her from sleep into a state of semi consciousness, imagining how her eyes would open in that sweet, sleepy manner and how her lashes would flatter cutely as she struggled to keep from succumbing to the delicious nothingness of sleep yet again.

The hand that rested under her neck and wrapped around her shoulders, he used to cradle her upper body closer to his own, all the while continuing to massage and knead her leisurely. From time to time, he bent his head down, to bury his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply, for her smell drove all thought away from his mind and made him dizzy with desire. Sometimes, he placed a drawn out kiss at the top of her head, but most times he simply got so lost from taking her aroma deep into his lungs that he could do nothing more, but breathe it in again and again, as if it was an addiction stronger than chemical substances. The last time he did it, she gave out a little laugh, notifying him that she was awake and very amused with him and his weird habits.

“Good morning, little dancer”.

Andrea acknowledged him, but wasn't sure if his sensual rubbing was meant to wake her up or put her back to sleep. So she decided to stay put for a little bit longer and give him the same treatment. It would be like a game, seeing which one was going to fall back to sleep first from the intense overload of relaxation.

With barely open eyes, she blindly rubbed her nose against his chest, taking in the scent of him deep into her lungs, just as he was doing with her hair. She caught the residue of sleepiness first. That light coat of sweat upon the skin, when you wake up from a very restful and warm sleep. The spicy undertones followed next, from his last shower and then... something she couldn't wrap her mind around, mainly because it was foreign to her. It was bold, but pleasant, sharp but soft and it seemed to somehow reside underneath the skin and much, much lower in location. For some reason, her mind gave it velvety texture and warmth, and it didn't take her long to realise what she was describing, unbeknownst even to her own self. Her cheeks reddened immediately, as she began to understand that it was his- _manly smell-._ She categorized it in her head and took another breath to get more of it inside her. The reasons for doing so were unclear, but in that moment, when the heady smell invaded her nostrils, she was certain that an explanation was far from unnecessary.

It was no news that from the moment she met him, her body had kept playing weird tricks on her. It was more than just getting wet. It was more than blushing when he told dirty jokes. And it was more than male and female biology. This was something else. Something more primal, more animalistic and vulgar. Something almost sacred. _The scent between your legs is driving me mad,_ that's what he had said, meaning her womanly scent, the one that nestled down there, safely tucked inside the body, maybe mixed with a little bit of her perfume, since for some reason, she always liked to let a drop slide through the curls at the top of her mound. Was that what was happening to her now? That's why she couldn't get enough of his own scent, the one secured underneath the skin, the one between his own legs? Would they smell each other more intensely if she was naked too? She found herself wanting to be, although she couldn't understand why. Perhaps this was one of the things people were not meant to understand, only to accept as natural truths. Truths shared between humans and animals. Things that bodies comprehended better than minds.

She kept smelling him, unashamedly and without worrying that she looked weird. He wasn't complaining now, was he? _No, so it must be something common_ , she thought decidedly and went on to indulge in that other triggering sense she so adored since childhood.

Her hand was currently draped slack over his waist, so she willed it to life and began to lightly skim it over his back. He shivered and sighed deeply, sounding almost relieved, like a small child receiving tenderness for the first time. She took it as an encouraging sign, even though it saddened her, and applied a bit more pressure so that she was now rubbing up and down his back, similar to the way he was touching her. Using all her fingers and as much force as she could gather in the morning, she massaged from the small of his back all the way up to the spot between his shoulder blades, where she had sensed the most tension the previous night and had made it her purpose to relieve him from it. A wide smile broke out on her face, when she realised that today's massage did not earn her a painful groan, but a blissful sigh. And his sighs, she loved the most. They sounded so full of pleasure, filthy and pure at the same time, that she didn't even want to think about what would happen inside her poor body, if he moaned, while she had her hands on him.

“Good morning, handsome”, she said, her voice croaky from sleep.

As a response, she sensed that frighteningly large hand of his, move even lower on her body, passing over her lacy undies, until it finally settled on the back of her thigh, below her bum. He gave a little squeeze, perhaps intentionally, perhaps not, and she gasped in surprise, a playful giggle following suit. She so badly wanted to do the same. Reach down and grab an arse cheek, show him who he belonged to, but that needed a lot of courage and it was really early in the morning for courageous acts. So, she just let her hand slide down to the small of his back, where she held on tight, in order to bring herself flash against him.

As she did that, she thankfully managed to stretch the leg that was draped over his hips and groaned with satisfaction when the numbness ceased. Before she set it back down though, she saw him do the same thing and so held herself up to give him space to stretch his own limbs. When he was all stretched and done, she assumed her previous position. Pure instinct might have followed next. A sort of need for unification, because by nature, a part of her body was empty and he could so easily fill it. Rubbing her calf against his ass, her heart exploding at how soft the skin to skin contact was, she used the muscle to pull him closer, grinding her hips to get more comfortable.

Loki hissed, as the upper side of his cock grazed against the lace of her panties, while the underside dragged along the skin of her inner thigh, a movement that made his poor member pulse and twitch. He squeezed her waist and breathed deeply to ground himself.

“Sorry”, Andrea blurted out quickly and turned her head upwards to make sure he was not mad at her. This was, after all, the second time she was teasing him like that. But she was met with a lecherous smirk and the gaze of the devil himself, a gaze she couldn't keep for more than two seconds before having to look away in haste.

“You'll be the death of me, woman”, he stated boldly.

Her body temperature rose and her stomach started doing back flips, as she repeated that raspy 'woman' again and again, until she couldn't take it any longer and had to let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Concentrating back on the texture of his skin, to find a centre, she made an attempt to change the subject.

“Did you sleep okay?”, yet Loki's gruff chuckle only made her blush even harder. Under her touch his muscles moved and spasmed, as if they were instruments whose keys she was pressing.

“I've been cradled for a whole night in the arms of an angel, whose fingers can apparently do more magic than my own, and she asks me if I slept okay”.

Andrea's heart burst with joy at the praise and she drew in a deep breath, as if trying to absorb and lock it inside her. He called her an angel, an angel whose comfort he had enjoyed. Her caresses, her care, her hold. He had revelled in them. And with only a few simple words, a few words and his hands, his huge hands that were holding her as if she was holy, he had acknowledged it. He had accepted to give over control, to share the responsibility of dominance, even for a few moments. It had been a risk, she was aware of that. In this, whatever this was that they nurtured for each other, it had become crystal clear from a very early stage that he was the dominant one, the one that touched more, demanded more and assumed control when she could not, or did not want to. But where he instructed and expected obedience, she had pleaded and asked for reassurance. And he had granted it without a second thought, surrendering his body over to her to do with as she pleased. The exhilaration of acceptance such as this and the immense need she felt to understand his reasoning behind last night's surrender brought her to only one conclusion.

“Was that what you meant?”, the words were out of her mouth before she had the chance to halt them in her throat.

He hummed in response, which only meant she had indeed said it out loud. _Damn it_ , “What?”.

“Nothing”, she said quickly, hoping that he would drop it. She didn't feel particularly inclined to share more information and be humiliated in the process. So she shook her head and began drawing circles on his back, intent on distracting him. She didn't have a clue about men's feelings and she didn't want to be educated right this moment, not after both of them had woken up in such a good mood, so cosily tucked against each other, their limbs entwined with care and alluring sleepiness. _No, he doesn't need to know about this, you can get away with it... it's not... even that weird..._

But of course, as always, Loki magically sensed her hesitation and did not let the matter slide.

“Andrea what are you talking about?”, he pressed, eager to discover what was it that she thought she could get away with and what she had meant by it. He heard her sigh, a sign that she had quickly accepted her fate. But when she spoke, determination and certainty was absent in her tone.

“I just... I heard you, last night, before we fell asleep, you said... you asked me if I understood”.

Loki shut his eyes for a moment, the memory of himself mumbling something sleepily, coming back. It had been an honest question, naturally following his train of thought, just before he'd closed his eyes, at last at peace. Yet it was a question he'd thought was only inside his mind. Apparently, he had spoken it.

He cleared his throat, “What do you think I meant by it?”. If she answered correctly, he wouldn't say anything to throw her off and if her answer was wrong, he would shrug it off, pretending that he himself didn't really know what he was thinking about.

 _Please don't play,_ Andrea thought, the urge to resign and drop the subject altogether beginning to make its way to her tired mind. She didn't know how she was always able to tell, but him rhetorically asking her opinion, was some kind of default reaction when he felt like he had to protect his territory, his pride. Reading Wuthering Heights had taught her a lot, in all honesty. This was a standard Heathcliff reaction. He felt uncomfortable and him feeling uncomfortable meant she was approaching dangerous grounds. His body posture didn't suggest it. He was clever at that. But perhaps he was unaware that the clues were hiding in his choice of words. Thankfully, she was no Catherine.

Loki, she had deduced, was a master of words. He could twist them, alter them, make them sound threatening, when in reality, they served to protect him. That was how he pushed you away. He used words. An abundance of them. And sometimes he would take what you said and tailor it so that it sounded like something you didn't. Andrea, on the other side, didn't work like that.

Words were important to her, indeed, but sometimes they truly meant nothing. Or at least, so far in her life, the people that had uttered them, the people that had exhaustedly been rambling on about themselves, were not close to Andrea's heart. So every time she chose to speak, she made it someone's worthwhile. She was direct when she addressed you, saying what she meant to your face. She left the metaphors and the intricate figure of speeches for the pages, which was remarkably ironic, since she was an English Literature student. There had been a time when poetry had spilled from her veins onto the paper too, but that was before she discovered that honesty, no matter how hard to bear, is always preferable when you are talking and someone has to listen. You have to say it even if it hurts you, even if it embarrasses you. That was how she had grown up, for better or for worse. But now, with Loki, things were different.

He made her want to talk. He made her feel like using her voice was something incredible. Something that he anticipated every time they conversed. He'd never suggested the opposite anyway. He'd never discouraged her from speaking and he'd never not paid attention to what she said. He'd never corrected her if she messed up her phrases and he always had something to add to keep the flow of information. When he was the one doing the talking, she got the feeling that she was reading a book, for he spoke with such composure and eloquence that all she wished to do was sit with him and listen, get inspired and gain courage to talk back, despite her shyness and aversion to constant blubbering. With him, speech had a poetic edge to it and meant something beautiful, but now he wasn't using it like that to take her breath away. Now he expected from her to speak so that he could decide how to approach, or not, the subject. And as much as she wanted to use his tools against him, deep down she knew that only straight forwardness and the changing of the guards would coax an honest reaction out of him.

“Do you know why I did it?”, she asked, surely taking him by surprise, even though she couldn't see his face.

“Did what?”, he answered with another question, but she ignored it.

“I needed it”, and there it was. _She_ needed something. Not him. _She_ wanted something from him, not _he_ wanted something and she gave it without understanding what is was. She knew damn well. But perhaps, taking it upon herself, excluding him from being the centre of attention would make _him_ understand.

Loki's brows furrowed, the deep crease in between holding equal amounts of curiosity and worry. He was not sure if this was simply a diverse, more enticing way of starting the conversation, or if she was finding trouble with her vocabulary. Nevertheless he went along, hoping that he could figure it out as she talked, “What did you need, little one?”.

She braced herself, for this part she hated the most. The part where she had to sacrifice an honest piece of information in order to get another, much needed one. None of the things she was about to stutter out were lies. That was why it hurt. Because she would tell the truth despite the red in her cheeks or her already teary eyes.

“You are the first person I touch like that. No, actually, that I touch at all. There was no one else since I came to Edinburgh, three months ago. I... kept my distance from everybody, because I was too scared on my own and... and... before that...”, she sniffed and with a shaky breath added, “... I had no one to be soft with and no one was ever soft with me, so... I thought that... I needed to... I wasn't the kid mum and dad tucked into bed at night with a forehead kiss and a hug, so I had to... give it to someone... I wanted to offer something that I... I...”, but she trailed off, not sure how to say this in a way that did not sound so pathetic.

“Something you were deprived off”, Loki finished for her, his heart clenching violently at the thought of the beautiful woman in his arms not receiving what she was owed to as a child. _How similar we are, you and I,_ he thought, _but at least I had Frigga._ How could he be the first to show her affection? Did she mean affection in general or affection of this particular variety, soft, naked and innocently erotic?

“I guess so, yeah”, she agreed, her voice breaking into a weak laugh at the end, “I couldn't ask you to touch me like that, I felt weird about it. That's why I showed you how I... and I just went ahead and did it. I thought that if I gave you something nice, like, like the touch of my hands or my... I don't know, then maybe I could get it back. Then maybe I would...”, she paused, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and her stomach all in knots, and withdrew her hand from his back to place it on his pale chest, “... maybe I would feel like I'm needed... here”, and buried the tips of her fingers, ever so gently, to where his heart rested. She heard the mild sucking of his breath that often comes with a sudden realisation or the announcement of bad news.

“No one ever needed me there. So when you said if I understood, I thought that that was it. That I am needed to bring you at least a little comfort. You... you seemed to... to want it, and since I wanted to feel someone on my skin, I gave it to you. You seemed... at peace when I did it, so I thought I did something right. But...”, more tears came and she could no longer stand being near him while saying those things, “... maybe I was wrong. I'm sorry”, so she took her hand away and began to squirm out of his reach so that she could deal with her doubts on her own, not having to subject him any longer to her faltering attempts at dignity. Maybe she could escape to the bathroom for a bit and cry it out. “I'm sorry, you're a God, why would you ever need that kind of treat-”.

“You talk about it as if it is a trade”, he interrupted the minute he sensed insecurity creeping in and turning her truthful words into an attempt at escaping. He didn't recognize the edge in his voice nor the urgency with which he gripped at her waist to stop her from going anywhere.

Andrea bit her tongue before speaking and stayed put, the hand he had on her body suddenly feeling too heavy, “Isn't it?”.

The previous plan, remaining silent or nodding in vague agreement, had crumbled down to pieces the moment he grasped why she had positioned them like this and had completely being called off the second she placed her hand on his chest. That hand had earned and given him more than his precious words ever could. It had even provided him with more than his skilful magic tricks ever could.

“No, darling, it's not”, his features contorted into a pained expression as he started to realise that the poor woman must have been so deprived off touch, affection, comfort, even human contact in the first place, that the moment her trust for him became stronger, she gave all of it freely and would do so every time she sensed that he needed it, whether or not her instinct was correct.

There was an angry bile gathering at the pit of his stomach, ready to be vomited out in the form of curses and the constant asking of the question, _why_ , _why_ , _why?. Why this alone, why this closed off, why this putting up of defence mechanisms even when you are perfectly safe, my dancer?_

Rejecting her need to be needed would destroy her, not to mention that it would be a sick lie. To hell with it. He was the God of Lies, but this lie he couldn't tell. Not even for the sake of protecting his own deprived self. This woman was giving him everything she could, everything that she thought he could perhaps grace her with in return, because she yearned to belong inside someone. This was about her, not about him keeping his pride intact.

She remained silent, waiting for him in agony to sort out his thoughts, while his hold on her waist had begun to hurt. Deep down, she hoped that he would admit it, because she felt almost absolutely certain about the signs she had received from him last night, but another part of her, expected him to find a way around the uncomfortable situation and save them both from the emotional entanglement. But expectation is the root of all heartache, like the great playwright once said, and thus what he did and said next made her ache, not from pain, but from an unbridled desire to praise and thank him.

Without a warning, his hand slid down her thigh to the soft spot behind her knee. He lifted his upper body, tightening his other arm around her shoulders, and roughly dragged her on top of him, yanking her legs further apart so that she straddled his middle. He sat up a little, grabbing her hips to make her stay in place, and then lowered himself back on the mattress to gaze up at her, watching her with a cold expression on his face as she darted her teary eyes everywhere but on him in mild panic. She gathered her hands close to her chest, as if wishing to defend her body against him, but he made no move to extricate them.

 

Andrea had never been in a position like this before. She had never straddled a man, much less an entirely naked God. It was overwhelming at first, dominating his body with her legs on either side of it, but the feel of his side muscle against the skin of her inner thighs was comforting and soft and she drew courage from it. Courage that made her relax her shoulders just a little and take a quick peak at his face. Never before had a man looked up at her as if he wanted to either kill her with his stare, or worship her with his eyes, or eye fuck her until she couldn't stop coming all over his chest. It felt scary in a hair rising kind of way. And it felt fucking good.

“Look at me”, Loki ordered in a heavily authoritative voice that had her meeting his eyes in an instant.

He concentrated on her hands again and the way they were nestled against her chest protectively. A few minutes ago she'd had them all over him, yet now she was holding back. Was it out of coyness, inexperience or fear? Shame of her nipples peaking through the fabric? Uncertainty of why her body reacted the way it did? He entertained all possibilities, but made no attempt at making her drop them down to his chest once more. She could keep this futile piece of protection against him. She would soon to be rid off it herself.

She kept looking at him, like he had instructed, agonising anticipation filling her body from head to toes, her eyes betraying confusion mixed with curiosity, until she felt his hands squeezing her hips to emphasize the point he wanted to make, but hadn't let her on on yet. Waiting for the unknown was as exhilarating as it was torturous.

“You foolish... foolish woman”, he said, which perplexed her all the more, since his eyes were brimming with amusement and his lips were stretched out into a wide genuine smile, “If I didn't need you, you wouldn't be here. But tell me, did you take it for granted that I was in need of your comfort or did you assume it?”.

The question suddenly made her anxious, because she knew how much he hated it when people assumed to know him and what he wanted. Once upon a time, Lizzy' s neck had paid the price. But the thing was that she didn't believe her actions to be based on an assumption. His groans and sighs the previous night, and the way he kept hugging her closer and closer, crouching his head and shoulders above her body, hadn't been a figment of her imagination. He _had_ needed her. She just couldn't bring herself to the point of sheer arrogance to say it out loud in his face.

“Neither. I sense things and if I feel brave enough I act. It scares me, but I do it”, she stated bravely, but her voice was considerably suggested the opposite. She hoped he wouldn't notice the contrast, “I have that instinct since I was a kid and last night... it was too strong and I needed more than anything to... I just... I need...”, but she trailed off yet again, the words getting stuck in her throat on their way out.

“Touch”, he filled in for her, his thumbs caressing the tiny taught muscles just above her hipbones. He felt her legs tense and squeeze at his sides at the little intimate administration of contact. Her eyes drifted shut, but she forced them open stubbornly, as if she didn't wish to surrender this quickly to his ministrations, “And affection. And comfort. And you gave them to me because no one ever gave them to you”.

Honesty stung, but she was prepared for it, and his hands felt so good that they clouded her sense of dignity. She nodded twice with her head, since his words covered her completely and awaited the playful God's judgement, who, for once, was repeating what he'd heard and not what he wished he could have heard.

“I've never needed them, or at least I thought so. I always believed them to be a weakness. A pathetic urge that suited only mortals and other beings that, over time, decay and die”, he declared disdainfully. Her eyes slowly dropped to his stomach, wishing to abandon immediately the malicious harshness held in his own, her brows forming a deep arch that bore defeat and so much emotion.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you, little dancer”, he demanded, and she did, but with no small amount of hesitation and shame. The way he said it, was absolute, but his voice was soft. However what nurtured greater suspicion, was how he smirked at her while using the strength of his torso to sit up and adjust his grip, this time on the backs of her thighs. He pulled her closer, his jaw almost bumping against her hands in front of her chest. He tilted his head slightly upwards to look at her face, to look into those big, green eyes that frantically searched his blue orbs for answers.

“If you must have me admit it, I didn't need them, until you gave them to me in that sweet, innocent way of yours or in the way you grab my waist when I walk you to University or in the way you cook for me, dance for me, smile for me, without being told to do so. You soothe me, little one, and at the same time...”, he paused to take a hand in his own and bring it to his lips, “ … you spark the wildest of things in me. To know that no one ever gave you something so simple and so basic as a touch, shakes me to my very bones and believe me, it takes a lot for me to be this shaken. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know why. But I will not ask. I'll simply give you as much of what you desire as possible, until you're tired and sick of it”.

His heart exploded into burning fireworks, when her lips quivered and twitched up into a wide, happy smile that could end wars as well as start them. She sighed and closed her eyes and nodded and sighed again, all in a slow, sensual succession that urged him on to touch her even more.

“I can live with that”, she finally whispered.

He chuckled, “I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter any more”.

And that was how Andrea knew, how she discovered and would never doubt again that the surly, greedy, antisocial God of Mischief needed her as much as she needed him. It was there. In his bright blue, unusually honest eyes. In the grip he had on the backs of her thighs. In the dead serious tone of his voice and in the gentlemanly touch of his lips against her knuckles. Once again, she had managed to get the truth out of him with truth and even if it costed her another piece of herself, it was worth it.

 _I don't care about choices...,_ her heart decided then and there, her hands turning towards his body to rest flat on the taut muscles of his chest. After that, there was silence and the tactile pleasures she longed for, followed suit, without her having to ask for it. Without even a single word having to make its way out of her mouth.

“I promise this... this isn't an obsession... although it might seem pe... peculiar... I can explain why... I just don't have the words yet. Please, don't think I'm weird... it's all much more... scientific”, she stuttered out, her entire face turning crimson upon hearing her own shaky words.

He dragged his body backwards, so that he was in a more sitting position on the bed and kissed her hand sweetly one more time. He pulled her along with him and she automatically wiggled closer, so that the friction between their chests would cease. Her balance wasn't granted, so he helped her reposition her long legs, this time straddling his lap and hips and being very careful about it, since his engorged manhood was directly underneath her spread body. But not even that mattered at the moment.

“We have time”, he whispered, “All you need to do is relax”.

Her heart skipped a bit when his hands moved upwards on her back, roaming up and down the length of it, as if warming her up and she couldn't help, but dig her fingernails into his pectoral muscles. The contact was so gentle, so delicate and trusting that she lost her inhibitions and didn't hesitate in sliding her hands up to the sides of his neck, her heart melting when she sensed him lean in to the touch, seeking her out instinctively.

Loki's eyes were fixed on her face and its many reactions, as he explored the valley of skin with his hands, to make sure that she felt no fear or shyness from his touch. He longed to go further down, to her sides and hip slopes, and roll the lacy fabric of her panties back and forth with his fingers, hoping to both offer her the perfect experience and further cultivate her trust.

And that was what he did after a whole minute of exploration. He dug his fingers, almost desperately, on her sides and backwards, on either side of her spinal chords, where the muscle was tough and raw and finding a solid base there, he hooked his pinkies underneath the lace, rubbing at the skin, warming it, creating different kinds of friction with as many of his body parts as she would allow. She broke out in quiet gasps, making him smirk wickedly against the hollow of her throat and nuzzle the tip of his nose where shoulder curves up into neck.

All of her tension points were situated under his fingers, Andrea thought, but didn't have time to consider what he meant to do, until he used this new hold to massage her so deeply that she considered for a minute that he would leave bruises on the skin. He started slowly and lightly, and then graduated to a firmer approach that had her gasping and writhing to come closer to him. The rise and fall of her chest against his own was adding the perfect pressure to the mix of sensations he was bombarding her with and the trick he was currently pulling on with his pinkies underneath the sides of her panties was mind blowing. Never had lace felt more wonderful against her naked bits.

“That's-”, she tried to say something about how amazing he made her feel, or thank him for the attention he was paying to her body, especially after all the personal information she had shared with him, after all the beautiful words he had uttered so close to her lips and heart, but he squeezed harder, silencing her.

“Don't talk, little dancer. Just feel”.

She did as ordered without questioning and instantly let herself relax against him. Her breathing slowed down and it gradually became so light that it was barely audible to the human ear. With her eyes drifting shut on their own accord, she understood that she wouldn't be able to keep her head up for long and so she gently let it fall, firstly against Loki's forehead. He nudged his jaw against her own, guiding and urging her to cease holding herself up. A second later, her face was comfortably shoved in the crook of his neck.

The position held a very particular memory that strangely brought a smile to her face. A memory of the private room and of a tall handsome man in black, whispering secretly in her ear, _brush your lips against my neck if you understand_. She hummed contently and allowed the tiny whiff of the spice in his hair to enter her nostrils and lull her into a semi-conscious state. Her fingers followed the veiny paths of his neck and tangled themselves in his raven locks, tugging lightly at them every time he rubbed a particularly good spot. All the while, she felt herself getting wetter and wetter, her folds become soft and velvety as they somewhat grazed against her underwear. Her womanhood was pulsing with need, yet somehow, it wasn't annoying or itchy, like it had been so many times before. This time, what he was doing to her with his hands, seemed to soothe every part that ached. From the entirety of her back down to the little pleasure spot between her legs that pounded with blood and begged for release. It was like those massage techniques she had once read about according to which, a person could be touching a nerve on the back of your ear and suddenly your arm felt better. A heavenly sensation. An overindulgence inside and out.

“Nice, isn't it?”, Loki whispered against her collarbone, but she didn't reply, just groaned, which was really a far better answer, far more gratifying.

He held onto her tight and lowered his body back on the mattress, taking her with him in a slow and steady descend, so that he didn't disturb her peaceful state of abandon. He got comfortable, squirming a bit under her to avoid her bottom bumping against his cock, and resumed his devilish ministrations from the sides of her spine down to the beginnings of her bum. She sighed and nuzzled her face more vigorously, hot wet lips tantalizingly brushing against his skin.

“Tell me something, little one. When I touched you at the club, at the room, you froze against me, you flinched, you shivered, you shuddered. So many reactions. As if you couldn't control yourself. As if your body was not in tune with your mind. It wasn't only from the shock of the moment or the fear of nakedness, was it?”, he asked, his voice gently piercing through the silence like a low hiss of the wind between leaves.

Andrea hummed negatively, confirming his words and buried her fingers deeper in his hair to draw courage. He was beginning to understand.

“You had no contact for so long and suddenly I was touching too many places at once. I overwhelmed you, but it's more complicated than that, yes?”, he pressed on, turning his head to the side so that their cheeks touched, “It's all much more scientific. Do you think you have the words now?”. He felt her hum again, this time positively. Finally, he was starting to figure her out and even if it didn't seem like much, these tiny bits of information were surely appreciated and a good place to begin.

Andrea took a last deep breath, getting as much of his smell inside her, and raised her head from his neck. She would be able to hold it up for a little while, but that was all the time she needed in order to say the things that needed saying. Taking a quick look at his eyes, she saw brightness and intelligence and a patience she had never encountered before on another being. The green was warmer than usual and the blue was dark and determined.

She sighed shakily and without realising it, rubbed her chest against his own, perhaps in a primal search for more friction and comfort from his body, before she began to explain in a voice that was no more than a tremulous whisper, like the flicking of fire from a candle about to go out.

“After the school psychologist diagnosed me with anger management, she thought that it would be a nice idea to do a sensory test as well. She said that... it wasn't rare for patients with control problems to be more or less sensitive to some or all of the senses. I told you at the apartment about the noise. The test proved that inarticulate noise, like traffic or white noise from the radio or the television, too many people talking at the same time, can set me off in a matter of seconds. I couldn't handle it at first, but... the school psychologist took me to a specialist friend of hers, without my parents knowing of course, who helped me isolate the different sounds and focus only on the ones that made sense”, she paused for a bit, trying to find the proper words to use.

The subject was making her extremely uncomfortable, but he deserved to know about this. It wasn't something she could hide forever and she didn't believe that it was a matter that would put him off in any way. So, she braced herself and continued, one hand abandoning his hair to slide down his side and draw tiny circles there in an absent mind attempt to feel better.

“She also discovered that I like touching nice things and that... I like... to be touched, like a nice thing. Maybe you've noticed by now that I own more underwear than clothes. There's a reason for that. The fabrics are softer. The silk feels softer, the lace, the velvet. I like... touching them and I like... wearing them because they centre me. It's... um... the manner in which they... rub against equally soft... parts. But most of all... I like to touch something... something else that I haven't had the chance to... to touch a lot, as a child...”, she averted her eyes from his face, too red and too embarrassed to continue looking at him.

“Skin”, he muttered calmly, putting her out of the difficult position.

She nodded, “I sort of... freaked out, when you... you... well, you were the first contact I had... the first to touch me... so much... and that suit was... damn it, it was really nice and soft. It was like sensory overload. Before you, no one had ever... I've never... I've never said this to anyone... no one”, but she didn't finish her sentence, because the memories of so many years without the simple touches of every day life, were dark and full of loneliness and pain. They brought an expression of sadness and haughtiness about her face, an expression that she didn't want Loki to see and thus she buried her face back in his neck, her tiny,- in comparison to his-, hands grasping his side and hair for dear life.

“Oh, Andrea”, Loki sighed and brought one of his hands up to grasp her delicate fingers. He removed them from his side and guided them to his chest, showing her how to touch him, just like she had done the previous night. At first, he was helping her rub his skin with the flat of her hand, but after a few moments of sweet sensory indulgence and quick encouragement, she took it upon herself and needed his help no longer.

“You must think I'm broken... my brain is wrong. I shouldn't be so... needy... but it... your... I can't stop myself... you're so soft... and hard and I... it's perverted I know”, she whispered.

“There's nothing wrong with your brain. I don't ever want to hear you say that again Andrea. This is unique. Your neurons are designed in a much more complicated and extraordinary manner than most peoples. You say you have sensory issues, but I don't consider them to be issues at all. They are an advantage and frankly, I forbid you to see it as anything but”, he softly chastised, digging his fingers into her spine. She arched against him in such a wanton manner that it was impossible to restrain the dirty thoughts running around in his head.

The hand tangled in his hair, came down to join the other that was already roaming over the expanse of his chest. She felt his heart beat speed up and before she knew what was happening, she sat up, straddling his belly, lips parted and eyes closed, revelling in the feel of him under her spread and eager body.

“An advantage?”, she repeated questioningly, “How... maybe it is for me, but how can it be for you? We're almost always... together... sometimes I can't stop thinking about it... It's like I'm devolving to an animal. You may talk and I can hear you... but all I pay attention to is your throat moving... and I just want... I want to feel the skin, the bone under it”, she confessed, her brows forming a bow of inexplicable pain.

“Why have you held back?”, Loki asked, his eyes following the motions of her hands.

He let her do as she pleased with him, watching her intently as she glided her beautiful hands up and down the entirety of him, sliding them to his sides to count the bones of his ribcage, caressing his toned abdominals with her knuckles, placing her palms on his chest to trap warmth in between, to feel how his nipples were beginning to peak just a tad out of the skin, testing how different sections felt and what messages they sent to her brain and wet core.

 

“Because it's... not natural... and because... I don't want to make you uncomfortable. To be honest...”, she replied, her voice considerably low and weak, “... I'm scared of it. I don't want to... send the wrong message... but when it takes over me... my mind stops thinking in... words”.

Loki remained silent through all of it, encouraging her with his hands on her waist to take what she needed, to have her fill of him. He lay submissive and quiet, carefully listening to the little sounds she made every time she found a spot she really enjoyed touching. It was mostly his chest, as far as he could deduce from the way she was gently kneading at the skin there, but she treated other parts with equal affection as well. He couldn't help but smile at her eagerness and willingness to explore, when she was urged on and given permission to. But that was exactly the problem he was struggling with. She didn't have to ask and wait for confirmation. She simply had to take what she wanted from him, because he would always give it. He had decided that a long time ago.

“So you prefer to abstain. Torture yourself”, he stated boldly. He watched her nod, her eyes squeezed shut.

He squeezed her waist to bring her to attention and said, “Listen to me, little one, because I will say this once and therefore if you do not follow my instructions at any moment in the future, I will take it as an act of disobedience and punish you for it. Am I understood?”.

At the words “ instructions” and “punish”, Andrea's eyes popped open and she sensed her knees give way for a brief moment. Perhaps if it weren't for his hold she would have ungracefully fallen on top of him. However, that didn't stop her from touching his body, an act that was so contradictory to her usually shy and reserved self. It made her question how much of herself was actually her any more.

She nodded twice, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation of what he was going to throw at her. There was this particular lilt to his voice, breaking through the seriousness, and a smirk on his face that betrayed that whatever he had in store for her, she was going to like.

“From now on, should you want my touch you tell me or show me, or just take it. You are not to hold back, you are not to think about what is proper or not, you are not to diminish yourself in any manner. You tell me, little one”, he demanded and began to sit up again to bring their faces closer. She needed to know that he was being undeniably serious about this, “And if you wish, for whatever reason, to calm yourself down, or release your tension, or gain back control you will _not_ hesitate to seek it out, at any place, at any time, no matter who's watching. I do not expect you to be polite and ask for it. You will simply take what you need. Are we clear?”.

Andrea stared at him for a moment, half shocked, half grateful, but surely aroused. He was using that tone of authority, authority that was for her own good. Her head was spinning. Anyone could talk with a certain amount of dominance in their voice, but when Loki did it, especially to phrase something so sweet and selfless, it was mind blowing, stomach flattering and heart clenching, all at the same time.

They were even. She had shared information with him that was painful for her to remember, but in return he had opened his heart and body in a way no one had ever done before.

“Yes”, she whispered, suddenly feeling a bit breathless, “Thank you. All... clear... I promise”.

He nodded, took her hand unexpectedly and placed a long kiss on her palm, making her giggle, because it tickled.

They entwined fingers and held hands in mid air for a while, resting their foreheads against one another's, as if they wanted to send thoughts and prayers inside each other's heads without ever having to utter a single word. Natural, peaceful, mutual but intense, nonetheless. She wished for this silent moment to never end, but then her stomach had to growl and ruin everything, making the both of them chuckle.

“What do you want for breakfast, handsome?”.

A quick moan escaped his lips, as they began to disentangle themselves from around each other, “Your fucking omelettes would be great, little dancer”.

She nodded, a stupid school girl smile on her face, and once he gently patted her thigh, giving permission to get up and head to her kitchen, she climbed off of him and hopped off the bed, while he watched amused her perky little bum slightly bounce with every jumpy step she made.

He got up shortly after her and went to the bathroom to take a shower, as she prepared breakfast. And as the water whipped his face and chest, and thankfully seemed to ease his painfully erect cock, he found the opportunity to think about all the words exchanged between them and about all the pieces of information she had given him. Finally, he had another piece, another brick to add to the foundations of their bond.

These moments with her were precious. These moments when he felt inspired enough to tell the truth and blatantly show that he had a heart. That he cared for someone besides himself. These moments were sacred and clandestine, in a sense, and he'd never shared them with anyone, until today, when he sat on that bed with Andrea in his arms, pressing her lovely body against him and clinging onto his neck as if he was her anchor. He was. There was nothing purest she could do to prove it and despite his initial doubts to let his guard down, he had accepted his role as such and had no desire to change it thereof.

She undoubtedly served as his own anchor as well. Her hand on his chest was all the assurance he needed that this woman wanted a place in his heart and after all he had discovered today, and after all they had said, he came to the conclusion that he had given her the chance to rip the beating muscle open and find shelter inside his blood, his pain and his loss. That heart belonged to no one. It had no home. It had no heritage. It had no master. And then suddenly it was hers. It was her home. And as the scent of the spicy shampoo invaded his nostrils, he froze for a minute, shocked by the realisation that it was happiness that he felt. It was satisfaction and it was a type of determination fuelled by the reinforcement of their bond and rocketed by the knowledge that they craved each other's touch.

Yet in a small, well preserved part of his mind, her hurtful words echoed and still made his heart clench upon remembering. _You are the first person I touch like that... I thought that if I gave you something nice... I thought I did something right... I wasn't the kid mum and dad tucked into bed with a forehead kiss and a hug..._

All his life,he had thought he would never admit these things. Needing comfort and safety, needing to be soothed by the gentle touch of a woman, and even though he had inwardly accepted them, he'd never had any intention of verbalising it. Until this morning, when the little dancer's hands had rested upon that dead thing he had for a heart. His chest still burned from the invisible print of her palm, as he covered the area with shower gel. Her need to feel needed, to be assured that she had done no wrong, had him dragging her on top of him in seconds, scolding her for believing otherwise and pouring his black heart out to her, laying himself at her feet to do as she pleased.

Despite how much it pained her, she had revealed that the one thing capable of bringing her comfort and calm, the one thing that could make her feel secure, no one had ever given to her. She might have said it indirectly and she might have taken some of the fault upon herself, but even that didn't change the simple fact that she was blatantly starved off physical contact, affection and love, to such extent that she would consider them a trade and give them to him freely in hopes of perhaps receiving them back. To him, it seemed like her mind was wrapped around the concept of always having to sacrifice something in order to get what you need, a concept which he had entertained for many centuries. He identified with that way of life. That was what he had done before New York and so, giving something up to gain something else was not a strange way of coping, not by any means. Family and betrayal were what had convinced him to let go and throw himself into the Void, from which, he still wasn't certain he had completely emerged.

There was no mistaking the tone she used when she mentioned her own family. It was all there. The hurt, the regret, the unshed tears and the insinuation that something terrible had happened. According to her words, both of today and before that, he had become certain that it was family that taught her to be the way she was. Family had educated her on how to hide need, to exclude tenderness and forsake the simple, mandatory desire for touch. For skin. For an altruistic caress that had the ability to draw anger away. Did they not believe that she was suffering from sensory issues? Did they not acknowledge the violent episodes? How could they deny their own child its right for affection? Why wasn't she the kid mum and dad tucked into bed with a forehead kiss and a hug?

“You deserve all the fucking forehead kisses in the word, you foolish woman”, he muttered under his breath as he brushed his hair, raking his fingers through the strands to get rid of the shampoo.

He wanted more than anything to get further information on her family, but he knew that she wouldn't spill a word if asked or pressured. He had to wait it out, like a fever, until she felt comfortable enough to share more on her own accord. That was how she worked and that was how he had received this recent news.

It had been an instant decision to be strict with her from now on and he'd meant what he had said to the last word. The mildest sign of hesitation from her side to take what she needed from this day and forth, would not go unnoticed or unpunished. That was how she would most efficiently learn how to receive what she needed from another person. That was how she would understand that he was not her father, or her mother and that shying away from him would not be in her list of options any longer. Sooner or later, with the easy or the hard way, she would come to terms with the fact that he was her man and she was his woman and no post traumatic experience and loss had a place between them. He would give her all the sensory pleasures she had been denied all those years and he would either expect her to toughen up and get it from him or he would spank it into her. For once in his long life of indifference, vengeance and failure, he would show that he cared. He would show it with no equivocation to the beautiful woman who was standing by the bathroom door, watching him shower with dreamy eyes, worshipping and idolizing him as the God he had forgotten he was.

Andrea had promised that she wouldn't do it again, after that first time when she had been caught, but here she was, leaning against the door frame, lazily spinning the spoon inside the bowl, which she had balanced against her hip. She was sure that a little bit of saliva was dripping down her chin and into the soon to be omelette, as she raked her half open lids up and down his naked figure.

This time she wasn't thinking about marble and sketches and sculptures, as the water and the foams glided down his back, waist and taut thighs. This time she was thinking that this glorious beast in front of her, this God of blood, violence and trickery, this ruthless man with the deadly hands and the sensual fingers, _needed her_. This man who used to hate her race with a fervent passion, wanted her and had held her in his arms, like a treasured thing, assuring her that all was well, that he was hers, listening to her every word, as if she was his high priestess.

That back of his, full of muscle, tension and unnecessary burdens, she and touched all night and morning. She had relieved the knots and had rubbed away the throbbing and the intensity, because she had sensed his need of it, but mainly because she couldn't hold it back any longer. And this she had confessed to him and this he took to heart, ordering that she was to do whatever pleased her, to touch however much she wanted and to enjoy herself and the sensory impact, or else there would be consequences. Punishment, in whatever context he might have meant it.

This man. This man and his hands. This man and his drop dead gorgeous body were giving her what she had been deprived off for so long, all in one night. All in the flash of a second, without coaxing, without needing explanations. How she would love to strip naked and show him just how much she appreciated his efforts with her. Show him with actions, not with an endless streak of words that praised his beauty and virility. How thankful she felt that he wasn't treating her like a disabled person whose brain was just programmed wrong. How she wanted to rub the shower gel into his skin and wash it with plenty of hot, soothing water. Or how she yearned to trace the entirety of his back with her lips, trying to commit him to memory. Or how she craved to drop to her knees, grab and knead those arse cheeks and take him down her-.

“Unless you're planning on joining me, that omelette better be ready when I get out”, he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to exceed the noise of the water.

The bowl almost slipped from her grasp, as the timbre of his tone echoed in the bathroom walls. Her cheeks caught fire and for some idiotic reason, probably a default reaction, she giggled and headed back to the kitchen to throw the mixture into the pun, whilst trying to exorcise all the naughtiness from her head.

After about twenty minutes, they were sitting at the table, having breakfast and chatting over the week's program, something which always came as a shock to her, since it was a peculiar experience talking to the legendary God of Mischief about study patterns, coloured notes and the teachers she hated the most. But he seemed genuinely interested in all of it, in spite of how stupid and mundane they sounded, and that encouraged her to include and speak to him about them. The second boot of shock, always came when he expressed his own ideas on different university subjects. Listening to him talk about what was the best way to memorise an extract or explain the meanings to words she didn't know, was always an out of the body experience.

She was full after two cups of sugary black coffee and two plates of omelette, but Loki just kept going, undisturbed, clearly not full and moaning just loud enough with each bite to make her fidget on her chair. He was going through the sixth omelette and he didn't really look like wanting to stop. Well, he would have to, because she had made ten and there was no way she was getting back into the kitchen for another cooking trail. _Do giants have two stomachs or something? This is unnatural_ , she thought amusingly, as she flipped through the pages of her diary.

As she got to Friday and wrote a note to remember the appointment with her international advisor, Loki asked, “Who's Johnson?”.

She looked at him confused, “How do you know her?”.

“You just wrote it, little dancer”, he chuckled pointing at the name with his finger, “I can read upside down”.

Andrea's eyebrows went up as she realised her own stupidity and shook her head. She giggled and huffed, “Makes one wonder what other things you can do upside down”.

A look towards his smirking face made her realise in shock that she had said that out loud. Busted. Turned out the naughty thoughts weren't completely gone after all. “Forget that I said that”.

Loki's smirk widened even more, as he cocked an eyebrow at her, “Your loss”.

She gave him a quick look and cleared her throat in preparation to change the subject, “Miss Johnson is my international advisor. We meet once a month to discuss my progress on the course and to let her know how I'm doing, living all alone in such a big city”.

“Is she necessary?”.

“To me? Not any more. But the University has appointed her to watch out for me. Make sure I am doing okay. She has helped me a lot actually. She was the one who made my papers for the student loan and my bank account and she also helped me find that apartment. She is a good person, really. I just... I just don't like her getting more involved than that, I think”.

“Does she know about the club?”.

“Of course not”.

“Why not?”.

“The University does not approve of... such jobs... especially for its students. If they had known I had financial problems and couldn't support myself here, do you really think they would send a generous check to my apartment? No. They would send an email to my... to my family informing them that I could not be accepted entry to their campus. They would send me back in my country and that's the last place I want to be in”.

There was an edge in her voice, towards the end that made Loki decide not to throw the snarky remarks he had at the tip of his tongue about educational institutions and staff ethics on Midgard. So, he decided to focus back on the international advisor and her role in the little dancer's life.

“Do you trust her?”.

Andrea smirked, her answer rolling off her tongue as naturally as snow in winter, before dropping her gaze back down to her diary, “Johnson? No. I trust nobody but you”.

Loki's heart was rejuvenated in a flash of a second, a wide proud smile breaking out on his face and as soon as she was finished with her writing, he reached across the table and caught her fingers in a gentle grip. Andrea smiled back and limited the space between them by leaning forward, pushing her diary aside in the process.

He placed a kiss on her knuckles, his silent thank you for her trust, and she watched, touched and fascinated by how his face softened and how his eyes closed tight, long and thick eye lashes on full display. He looked like a medieval knight of sorts, reaching across the round table to claim his princess' favour. So poetic it was that she extended her other hand across the table and run a fingertip over his dark brow, smoothing the little black hairs into place, as if it was the most important activity in the world.

He kept his eyes closed, relishing in her touch, before he stated in a low voice, “You have your final assessment this week”.

“Yeah, on Hamlet. That's the topic I chose”.

He hummed, “How many bloody words this time?.

“Five bloody thousand. It's really close to a dissertation”, she groaned, tracing the wrinkle in his forehead with the tip of her finger.

He smiled against the skin of her knuckles and finally opened his eyes to look at her in that wicked way of his, “Then you better start. The sooner you begin, the sooner I'll have you all to myself”.

 

***

 

Andrea didn't waste any time and started noting things down immediately. She approached this essay as she would any other smaller one.

Firstly, she concentrated all the ideas she had about the subject under examination. Then she decided which of these ideas could be associated with the questions she had to answer. She planned what would be mentioned where and how it should be linked to the rest of the content and sooner than she had expected, she was analysing the different views and thesis on a notebook, before moving over to the laptop to type.

She wrote ceaselessly, taking small breaks only when she was experiencing a sort of writer's block, which wasn't very often. Her hours at the University had been cut short, since Christmas was approaching in a few days and lecturers had decided to be lenient. This meant that there was more time for her to spend in front of her laptop, typing what she'd written on paper in a frenzy, as if she thought that the phrases would escape her if she didn't trap them quickly behind the screen.

Many were the times when she fell asleep with her head resting on the desktop and her fingers wrapped around the mug of bitter sweet coffee, the rapid song of the keyboard ceasing for the nightly hours. Loki chuckled every time that happened, showing patience and understanding, even if she was always so engrossed in her task that she forgot to talk to him or take care of herself. He tried to convince himself that holding her against his body was enough, her head tucked underneath his chin and her juicy thigh draped over his hips, but in all honesty, he yearned to hear her voice and enjoy the magnificent powers of her delicate fingers, rubbing along his back and lulling him to sleep. But she was constantly exhausted from over working herself, putting all her energy in her work and the only time he got to enjoy her was when he walked her to the University and back.

“Come on, little one”, he said one night, as he gently shook her shoulders to wake her up, before slipping his arms under her own to lift her and take her to the bed.

She whimpered in response, her eyelids too weak to open and as he carefully gathered her up against his naked chest, he heard her muttering something about the characters of the play, “Fucking Ophelia serves no fucking purpose. Hamlet belittles her all the fucking time, she gets offended and then shuts up. Useless. Just slap the hell out... out of him. That's purpose”.

As he set her on the bed and got under the covers with her, he couldn't hold back his grins and chuckles. She sounded so strangely erotic when she swore in that tiny whiny voice of hers, the one she seemed to acquire when she was feeling particularly sleepy. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders to warm her up. He gathered that she was too exhausted to respond with an equal hold and so he simply let her lie there to regain her strength.

“Fucking useless...”, she kept muttering, stretching her legs beside his own.

“I will tell you of her use tomorrow”, he assured her and placed a soft kiss at the top of her heavy head.

“Oh, don't bother”, she replied, somehow listening to his comment and draped an arm and a leg over his body unceremoniously, grabbing him and squeezing him closer and closer, “I'll stay in bed with you. You have a purpose. Ophelia doesn't. You like me. Ophelia doesn't. You're an angel. She's... dead”.

He didn't know why her words made him shiver or why a chill ran down his spine like icy water. Was this real? Did she mean it? Or was it sleepy talk and nothing more? _You have a purpose_... _you're an angel_... He blinked and shushed her, whispering against her hair that she needed to sleep. In return she nuzzled her mouth against his chest and scooted closer, while he sneaked his hand under her baggy blouse and traced her spine with his fingertips, slowly sending her into a deep restful slumber.

 


	19. Gatsby and Daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Andrea's important essay is finally delivered, Loki puts a rather steamy idea into action in hopes of relieving her from the stress. Will he succeed? What else will come out of it in the process?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's nice to be back with another chapter. I swear to you, I don't sleep well on Wednesday nights because I'm too anxious about uploading on Thursdays! I'm weird like that. I'm so happy and grateful to all of you who are still reading this story and don't find it boring and worthless, because trust me, that was one of my main worries when I started to put bits and pieces together into chapters. I hope it continues to not disappoint! 
> 
> **As always, pictures are burrowed from the web and therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. And since we are on the subject of photos, I wanted to mention that the girl in the second picture is definitely not Andrea (in terms of exterior appearance). I've shown you Andrea on a previous chapter, can't exactly remember which one. But, I wanted to put a picture of a girl looking at herself in the mirror and noticing herself and her beauty for perhaps the first time. It's pretty powerful I'd say and I wanted to give it texture and colour, not trusting myself to do so with words and my crappy descriptions. That girl in the pic came quite close to a another version of how Andrea might look like, although it's not her. I also think that I can give credit for this picture. I do believe it's a still shot from a Gucci ad for a perfume(?), recent too, about a year ago, although I'm not entirely sure. I'll double check it and notify you in the next chapter notes, because now I'm sitting in hot coals, I just want to get the chapter up. My heart is racing! 
> 
> Also, if it's not already clear, the extracts in this chapter are from The Great Gatsby, which is one of my favourite books, ever, in existence, like literally. I do encourage you to read it if you haven't. F. Scott Fitzgerald is a true inspiration. Know that this chapter WAS actually written because I got inspired by Gatsby, I don't know why, don't ask me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Thank you for your support, your delightful comments and your kudos, they do mean a lot! Also, a special thank you to fiftyshadesofpissedoff because her/his enthusiasm can literally give life and another special thank you to minataurius because her/his comment made me laugh to tears and I kind of needed that in that particular moment! So thank you!

“... _they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered_...”

- _F. Scott Fitzgerald_

 

 

Loki jumped on his seat on the couch at the sound of the computer screen being slammed against the keyboard forcefully. He turned his head to the side to find a miserable looking Andrea coming towards him and then around the couch in the pace of a snail. She leaned forward and grabbed one of the cushions resting by his side, and hugged it to her chest whilst flopping down, her head ending up on his lap and her legs stretched over the armrest of the couch. Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and relaxed her neck on the bump of his thigh.

“I'm assuming you are finally done?”, he inquired, setting his book down.

“Yes”, she whispered and opened her eyes to stare into the distance without the intention of seeing anything in particular.

“Did you send it?”.

“Yes”.

“Are you tired?”.

“Yes”.

“But there's still a little tension that makes you restless”.

“Yes”.

“I have a surprise for you”.

“Yes-”, but then, when he chuckled, she realised that something didn't add up, “What?”.

“I said I have a surprise for you”, he repeated, his voice breaking into a giggle as he leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

“What kind of surprise?”.

“The kind that will relax you”, he informed and patted the cushion she was clutching, “Let me up, little dancer”.

Andrea gave him a suspicious look, as she lifted her head off his lap and sat up straight on the couch. He wore a deeply concerning smirk on his face as he got up and made his way to the bathroom. The expectation of the unknown made her stomach flip both in anxiety and excitement, making her fidget uncomfortably and keep casting quick looks at the bathroom door, which for the first time since she had moved in here, was closed. For some reason, this strange occurrence worried her more than the suggestive expression stretched out across his sharp face.

Then suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of green light, faint but visible, slipping under the door. It disappeared almost immediately and then reappeared, this time stronger and more expansive, as it seeped through the hinges of the wooden door. She furrowed her eyebrows and tightened her hold on the cushion, as she tried to concentrate on hearing any sounds that might be coming from the bathroom. There was nothing. Everything was silent. She couldn't even hear his steps on the hard tiled floor.

When he finally came out, his stance was quite changed. More inviting and easy going and his eyes were considerably softer, staring at her with affection and something like doubt, nothing like the wicked smirk, plastered on his face from moments ago. He was standing in front of her now, extending his hand, palm upwards, waiting patiently for her to take it. She couldn't help but be a little curious about whatever he had in mind and as a result, her eyes kept darting between the extended hand and the bathroom, trying to find an answer that would push her enough to accept the moody demon's quiet invitation.

“Come with me”, he said in his knee weakening voice, the timbre of which dripped with dominance and tenderness alike.

 _What have you done, you little devil,_ Andrea thought as she slipped her fingers into his palm, knowing deep down in her heart that there was no arguing with him when he was instructing her so gently. He wouldn't bother sweetening his tone in the first place if he really didn't want her to follow him. So she dropped the cushion haphazardly on the couch and allowed herself to be lead to the bathroom, where the mystery was waiting to be revealed.

Loki was grinning every time her face was turned elsewhere and smiling softly when she glanced at him for reassurance with those big, innocent eyes of hers. This alternation of expression was his means of coping with his current two unbalanced moods. The first involved unsettling the little dancer. Make her step out of her puffy cloud of comfort and surrender to his plans for her well-being. The second was basically him worrying that the first mood was going to get the better of him and whether or not he was taking it too far, too fast.

This idea of his, had been brewing in his head for a few days and now that the little dancer was at her most tense and miserable of states, it was the perfect opportunity to put the plan into action and execute it. Her hesitation was tangible yet justified, since this would be a new experience for the both of them, even if she still was blissfully unaware of it. He had never done something like this for a woman, not even for the ones he had actually tolerated over the centuries. But Andrea was special. She was different and different suited him. He was positive that the moment she got past the general intimidation that comes with shedding all protections, she would happily and lovingly embrace his idea and let go.

When they stepped into the bathroom, Andrea gasped and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle excited squeals. The scene before her was worth devouring with her bright eyes.

 

The little flames from the medium sized candles danced quietly, casting shadows all around the tiled walls and the tiny bit of smoke that was released into the shower space, carried the enticing whiff of vanilla. She took a step closer to observe the bathtub. It was filled to the brim with water, but the water somehow had a golden shimmer to it, probably from some bath bomb or another of Loki's wicked concoctions. Foam was resting on the surface, white and thick, although sparse in certain spots. Beside the tub, against the glass wall that separated the particular space from the rest of the bathroom, there was a little marble table and on top of it rested two glasses of red wine and a book, the title of which she couldn't make out. And then, surprisingly enough, she spotted a chair by the table. A deep green cushion was positioned at its back and, as far as she could see, the chair itself was large enough to accommodate two people, or a majestic God for that matter. Was he going to sit and watch her bathe?

She took a glimpse at him and her cheeks reddened when she realised that he'd been looking at her the entire time, his eyes alight with relief and expectation.

“Come”, he said, making her stomach twist in knots of nervous anticipation.

He squeezed her fingers reassuringly, briefly bringing them to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss. He led her into the bathing space, their steps quiet and careful, until they were standing in front of the tub, very still and very close, so close that as they breathed, their chests slightly touched. The little flames from the candles filled his eyes with dark shadows and accentuated the sharpness of his face, making him look like such an otherworldly creature. Like a demon God, fleshed out from the pages of the oldest book in the world. His gaze was penetrating, burning holes into her skin, and she couldn't hold it for a long time before she had to look away nervously. He had said that this surprise would relax her, but in all honesty, she had never been more alert in her life.

The atmosphere was heavy with the aroma of vanilla, which was helpful in some sense, since it was slowly dizzying her senses. The dimness of the light made her eyes flutter lethargic, and her mind, to yearn for an escape to a land far away where she wouldn't feel so anxious around him. She wasn't doing it on purpose. It wasn't her intention to always be so tense, but this particular moment between them was a new thing that required not courage, but acceptance. And she thought that she would have difficulty with that. She thought that she wouldn't be able to withstand the intensity of his eyes, or the devastating proximity of his lips or the combined heat of their skin. Blurting out something stupid to lighten the atmosphere was the first coherent solution that popped on her mind. A solution meant to begrudgingly ruin the silent closeness and his extensive effort to show her something. This couldn't just be a random surprise. There was purpose in everything the God did.

But when the soft command came, a command she had somehow sensed, would come, all the worry and the stress and the left over adrenaline from before were pushed out of her, mind and body, with a sigh and a shy smile of acceptance. How peculiar that the moments meant to make her feel worse, actually made her feel better. All she had to do was obey, because obedience held release and release brought freedom even for a couple of hours, a couple of flitting moments in a day. S _top thinking_...

“Take off your clothes”, he whispered, his eyes never leaving her face.

Relief poured out of her in sighs and coy smiles. She bit her lips and raised her hands to her chest to play with her clavicles, tracing the sharply defined bones. He was undoubtedly forced into realising that she wanted this. She needed it. Even if it made her blush, even if it made her cast her eyes down. She needed to be free of the weight. And it was so easy, all this time. All he had to do was utter the words and she would oblige. _Such dangerous knowledge_. _Such threatening power to have over someone_. And he now possessed it. All he had to do was say it and he would be understood. Even if his commands entailed her bareness in front of him.

And she did it. Because she had come to the conclusion that when sweetly branded with , marked by and completely involved in a relationship like this, in a bond like their own, you just do it. There is no hesitation. There is no second guessing yourself, there is no worry. There is only you and him. There is your need to be freed and his willingness to respect it. There's plenty of shame and trepidation, but you desire to feel both of them. A little fear is arousing. There is that yearning to enjoy the caress of your own fingers against your own skin as you hook your thumbs in your gym shorts and lower them just past your thighs, from where they can fall on their own. There is that need to lower your head in submission as you lift your white t-shirt above your head and then relish in the little thump it makes, as it hits the tilled floor. You're not wearing a bra. You don't need it around him. You don't care that your nipples tighten against the fabric every time you're cold or every time he sees it and says something dirty to arouse you even more. You haven't worn one since you moved in with him, because it's ludicrous to hide yourself from him. There is that craving inside you, to feel the pulse and the pull and the wetness of your sex as you slide your black panties down. You want to imagine that as they fall and gather around your ankles, he is looking at you, considering what to attack first. Your mouth, your neck, your breast, your cunt. And suddenly, when the primal need to be watched and ravished slowly, abandons you, and you are as naked as the day you were born, you want that tightness in your stomach and the explosion in your heart, when you realise that he's been staring at your face the entire time. Because he is a man. Your man. Not an inexperienced boy. Not a horny teenager going about like he knows what he's doing. Because he respects your body enough, to look at your face instead and make sure you are not crying or feeling forced. Because he knows that you didn't strip to indulge him, but because you needed to free yourself. Because he can control himself and his desires and he's aware that none of you belongs to him, until you can bear to look at him in the eyes, in this state of your bareness. And you're not there yet and he knows.

Her lovely, delicate hands had already come up again to caress her clavicles, her pale wrists pressing hotly against her nipples. Tenderly, he removed one and caught it in a feather like grip. He kissed it, first, each pad of her fingers and then each knuckle with slowness and intimacy, closing his eyes to centre himself better and restore the control her sweet subservience had briefly robbed him off. He didn't allow his eyes to drift downwards and take even the shortest glimpse at her enticing nude self, since he knew deep down that her shy smile and lack of an attempt to hide herself in shame were enough for now. In the future, many opportunities would present themselves to feast on her naked form and devour every bit of it, but in this moment, that red face and the sensuous taste of her skin on his lips were all he could ask for.

“Get in, little dancer”, he breathed against her hand, his eyes remaining stubbornly closed.

Andrea blinked her understanding, although he couldn't see it. She used their tender hold to get inside the tub and steadily lower her body to the bottom. He held onto her tight, helping her not to slip, but she didn't fail to notice that his body was slightly turned away from her, his face looking towards the opposite wall of the bathing space. Was he giving her privacy? Where had this new sense of decency come from? _I basically stripped naked on command but you-, what..._ He wasn't looking. Not even a mischievous glimpse. A peak when she had her eyes elsewhere.

It filled her heart with joy to know that he was being so respectful. He only indulged in what she allowed. Yes, they were sleeping the way they were each night, but that was only because she had accepted him being naked in bed and touch her in the manner she yearned to be touched. Yes, she danced for him in little clothing, but she liked to dance with such freedom and please him and he liked to watch. Her consent was always required, in any manner, and valued greatly, she realised. Therefore, now that she was the one shedding her clothes and getting into a hot relaxing bath, his eyes stayed shut and his hands were kept to himself, even if it tortured him inside.

 

Hastily letting go of his hand, she busied herself with gathering the thick foams around and over her to cover the tantalising bits of her form and end his internal torment.

“You can turn around. I'm okay”, she informed in a quiet voice and giggled, when he experimentally gave her a one eyed look over his shoulder to make sure.

“What, you don't believe me?”.

“You have a reputation for being naughty”, Loki cajoled and gave her a filthy wink full of insinuation.

He turned around, as she had instructed, and collapsed on the huge chair beside the tub, picking up the book he had chosen for her. He got comfortable, slightly curving his back and bringing his leg up to connect his ankle to his knee, before grabbing the wine glass for a quick sip.

She had settled across from him in the tub, because she had initially thought that the close proximity would make her nervous, but now, as she watched him drink the dark liquid, his eyes barely open and lusty above the glass rim, fixed on her, she changed her mind. Proximity, in this moment of intimacy, of existing in the same space without shame, was what she yearned for. Not to mention that there was another wine glass on the marble table and she felt more than keen to taste it with the same relish he did.

Thus with small and careful moves, she swam lightly through the foams and reached the other side of the tub, getting closer to him and the bitter red. He kept on drinking slowly, ignoring her shift in positions, while she grew wetter and wetter, and not necessarily because of the water. _How can a woman get wet by watching him drink wine?._ Her hand was really close to a specific area that had started to literally hurt, but she drew in a deep breath and relaxed under the shimmery water, spreading her thighs just slightly to allow it to soothe her.

 _Could I... maybe... no, Andrea, no. Not nice, not proper, forget it_ , her brain scolded and unfortunately she had to agree. He would know. He always knew, in that magic way of his, about everything she did, everything she felt. She was certain by now that he could read thoughts and interpret heat signatures, that little bastard, and if she touched herself, even if her fingers accidentally brushed against her petals, he would notice. She was sure.

When he finally set the wine down and started flipping through the book pages, Andrea asked, “Are you doing to read to me?”, and was completely taken aback by how her voice came out.

Perhaps it was the hot water doing its tricks on her bare skin, or the intoxicating vanilla relaxing her nerves, but she could have said ''are you going to fuck me'' and it would have sounded the same. _What's wrong with you?_ The thought made her want to touch herself fiercer than before, but she held back, willing her body to behave and her mind to adjust to the concept that not all moments are the right ones for a girl to slide her hands down there and get things done. But since the spot between her legs was out of the question, she decided that touching something else and revel in the sensory delight could work as an equivalent.

She brought one hand up to rub at the tense space where neck meets shoulder. The sound of the water dribbling down her skin to join the rest in the tub, suddenly sounded almost erotic. Closing her eyes and sighing contently, she resumed adding pressure on her body, trying to forget about the fact that it was another place, lower down, that needed the real attention.

“Yes, that's the plan”, Loki said abruptly, watching with bemusement how her eyes popped open at the sound of his voice and concentrated back on him, cheeks red as blooming flowers, but body posture finally sanguine and free of unnecessary control and inhibition.

“What are you going to read to me?”, she asked, still rubbing her neck firmly, thinking how rude and uncaring she must look. Here he was, all sprawled out on his chair, willing to read to her and relax her and she was sensually rubbing her body, creating friction between her thighs to hopefully relieve herself without moaning out loud, biting her lip and looking at him expectantly. _Oh, surely he must be having a terrible, awful time,_ she thought bemused.

“I was thinking star crossed lovers, oppressed passions and human inadequacy would meet your needs”, he replied, smirking, and held up the book so that she could read the title.

Andrea's face lit up. _Gatsby_.

“I don't deserve you”, she muttered under her breath and smiled up at him.

“Oh, please, shut up”, he cajoled and rolled his eyes dramatically, “And don't expect me to do an American accent”.

Andrea laughed at that and shook her head in acknowledgement. She flipped onto her side, stretching her long legs under the water as far as the tub could accommodate and dragged herself closer to the edge. She placed her forearms there and her chin on top, pressing her breasts against the side of the tub in search of friction and stability. The position was comfortable enough and so she closed her eyes again and waited for Loki to start his reading.

The wine had made his voice rougher, emphasizing its sensual timbre and as he began with the first chapter, it echoed all around the bathroom, giving it a three dimensional effect that hit all the right places inside her body and stole the oxygen from her lungs. Oh, yes, that was the voice of a God.

 

“ _In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my head ever since._

_'Whenever you feel like criticising anyone', he told me, 'just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had'._

_He didn't say any more, but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that_ ”.

 

As he read, the young woman paid attention to the way his lips moved, punctuating every word differently and carrying out the emotion and its meaning with great care and mastery. The tone of his voice would change each time he came across dialogue, but that didn't mean that he mimicked women's voices in that high pitched mock way, men sometimes used degradingly. He simply lowered the bass in his chords and spoke quieter so that the words would come out softer and smoother, resembling the manner women talked in the 20's. With light-headedness from the champagne, despite prohibition, and with wealth and expensive clothes in their minds. Flowers and parties and magic. He somehow brought all that to life, as he read them out loud.

 

“ _Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed, and I'd known Tom in college_ ”.

 

Andrea reached out and took the, so far, untouched wine glass, carefully and quietly so as not to disturb him. As he continued reading about the narrator's acquaintance to Tom Buchanan, she brought the wine to her mouth and wetted her lips. She found herself in heaven the minute she darted her tongue out and tasted it sufficiently. With every small, timid sip from that point on, each word that left Loki's lips gradually started to sound sexier and sexier.

 

“ _'Tom's getting very profound', said Daisy, with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. 'He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we-'_

 _' Well, these books are all scientific', insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently_ ”.

 

They were about twenty pages in the book, if she remembered correctly from the countless times she had devoured Gatsby. She set the wine glass back on the table and laid her head on her forearms, sated and happy, as if she just had the best meal of her life. With a stupid smile on her face and consciousness lighter than a feather, she closed her eyes and began to imagine white porches and bottles of cold lemonade and people dancing with such joy that they looked insane. And she didn't quite know how, but Loki's voice started to become slower and distant, as if she was walking away from him, although her body was very still. The water seemed to still around her and she had no strength to open her eyes and disturb it a little, and so she allowed herself to drift further into darkness. It seemed like the only option.

 

“ _The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear, whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing_ ”.

 

***

 

_She opened her eyes to a sky as blue as the eyes of a newly born baby and, as strange as it sounded, she could see herself outside her body, floating between worlds. Her body lay flat on a sea of the deepest, darkest blue, nothing like the shade of the sky above her head. She was all alone, naked and wet, as if she had just sprang out from the womb of the earth. She had nowhere to look, nowhere to focus, since everything was blue and identical._

_In sudden loneliness and fear, her lips started quivering, preparing her for the inevitable tears that would drip down her cheeks and add to the water below her. Hiccups, whiny and pathetic, escaped the walls of her throat. Where am I? She swallowed hard trying to choke the lumps. Where are all the other bodies? She shut her stinging eyes. The sea must surely need some more..._

_She lifted her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes, in an attempt to dry them and shield them from the blinding light of the sky. Her pouty lips parted to let out a shaky breath, which echoed all around her and then got swallowed by the void and the emptiness of the sea, but was the sea empty? Sea sustained life and life meant monsters and slippery little fish and disgusting eels and horrifying sharks. What if she disturbed the waters and they ate her alive?_

_She didn't dare to look down and confirm the fact, and so she lay very still and very quiet, damning herself in this blue non-existence. But then she heard the water move, light waves crashing against nothing but air, salty droplets landing on her stomach and belly. Terrified that she would die, she opened her eyes to at least meet the end with bravery, only to find out that she was not alone any more._

_A raven haired creature of the wild slowly emerged from the dark waters, grabbing her body with its long lean arms in order to fully lift itself from the sea below. She gasped at how cold its skin was, but allowed it to use her as an anchor and get away from whatever hell he was trying to crawl out off. No one deserved to be down there, with the monsters and the infinite blue._

_She watched it come out completely, somewhat happy that it managed to escape, and when it was fully on the surface, breathing heavily, wet and naked, like herself, its fingers gently sliced through the water and turned it into ice. Cold, frigid, thick ice that made her teeth clutter. She started to feel numb and bruised and tried to get up but she couldn't. It was too cold, she couldn't move._

_With a last glance towards the thing that had emerged from the water, she realised, in those perhaps final hours, that it was a man all along. A beautiful man. Her man. He raised his hungry eyes to her face and graced her with the wickedest grin, before raking his insatiable gaze over her form, silently praising it, yearning for it. He made a small fire burn inside her body and the bruising somehow stopped._

_He wasted no more time in dragging her up to her knees and when their sticky wet bodies clashed against one another, his hands clutched at her thighs and spread them wide. He hefted her up with ease and she wrapped herself around him, momentarily shocked by how quickly everything was happening and how easily he swept her off her feet. For a minute she thought that their combined weight would crack the surface and make them fall into the sea, but they couldn't. There was trusting ice underneath them now._

_His hands seemed to be all over her. Her neck, her back, her buttocks, warming, seducing, his grip alternating between gentle caresses and angry yankings that pushed the air out of her lungs and she couldn't help but do the same to him. They touched hastily, as if they were afraid that if they stopped, they would be alone again._

_Water was dripping down their skin and a random glance towards the ice underneath their feet made her realise that as soon as the droplets hit the solid ground, they turned into daisies. White on white, it was almost impossible to spot them. She observed the strange phenomenon for a little while until the man she held onto shoved his face between her breasts, his breath hot, as he darted his tongue out and licked her all over. She sensed his hunger and let him nourish himself with her flesh._

_He nipped and bit at the skin with need and passion beyond her comprehension, taking her nipples into his warm mouth and sucking violently, similar to how babies latch at their mothers' breasts in search of the nutritious milk that will make them powerful and mighty._

_Andrea, she heard him call inside her head, as she cradled his own in her hands to hold him where he needed to be the most. He responded by pulling at her hair to get more of her breast between his greedy lips. She screamed in pleasure, moaning wildly and filling this barren land around them with life._

_Andrea, she heard again and this time it sounded more urgent, needier than before. She reacted to the voice. Looking around the icy scenery to see where it was coming from, while her body shook from the ceaseless torture._

_Andrea..._

 

 

“Andrea”, Loki called out for the fourth time, as he dropped down to his knees and cupped her frowning, sleepy face. He gave her cheeks a caress with his thumbs, gently trying to wake her up.

After a moan of approval and pure bliss, she jerked her head up and would have almost bumped it against his chin if he hadn't been quick enough to move backwards. He kept his hands on her shoulders to keep her from slipping inside the tub and drowning herself.

“Easy there”, he chuckled out, as she raised her half open lids and searched his face for clues that could orient her and explain her sudden drowsy state. She was frowning like a child who couldn't tell right from left, something he found to be adorable.

“Oh fuck...”, she murmured.

Sighing heavily, she shut her eyes and tiredly flopped onto her back, making the water bounce and spill over the tub and onto the tiles. At first, it covered her up to the neck, but when it eased out, it barely reached her clavicles. She blew on the foams playfully and raised her delicate hands above the water to rub at her face and drive away the sleepiness. She cracked her knuckles, which wasn't healthy, but she did it anyway, and tried to stretch her legs. Yet upon realising that the space wasn't enough to relieve the stiffness, she extended each one out of the water, moaning and relishing in the feeling of her calf muscle being stretched to its limit.

Loki took a deep shaky breath, thinking how he was struggling to remain a gentleman, but she didn't make it easy. He watched with fascination gleaming in his dark, jade eyes as she raised those infinite legs of hers above the water, counting each and every drop that glided down her skin. From her toes, to her ankles, to her calves to the spot behind her knees. The straw like colour of her body parts was coated in a glittering shimmer, due to the magical wash he had dropped into the water, while he'd been preparing her bath. In the dim light of the candles, her skin was illuminated and glistened with sparkling bits, making her look like a golden entity emerged from the depths of the sea. A magnificent creature of both beauty and deadliness. A siren. A mermaid. A sea heathen. A wraith, bound to a mortal form to seduce men and drag them to the bottom of the ocean to rip at their throats and eat them alive, as they smiled mystified.

His fingers twitched, wanting to touch her softly, lick the water off her and dry her with his breath, only to wet her again with his kisses. He was already lured in, bewitched, like one of those victims he fantasized about.

And as if she heard his thoughts or more likely, had seen him staring at her legs, she said, giggling, “Hey sailor”, before dropping them back into the water, as if it was the sea, and coming closer to the edge of the tub, as if it was his ship, resting her chin on her hands with a coy smile on her rosy face.

A chuckle escaped his lips, “Welcome back to the land of the living, little dancer”, he mocked, cocking an eyebrow.

She blushed red, “Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep”, and then on a lighter tone, “How long was I out?”.

Loki fixed his eyes on hers, observing how their usually green colour had turned darker, hiding secrets and unadulterated thoughts. He raised his hand to her face and cupped a cheek, his heart melting a little when she leaned into the touch. Feeling emboldened by this, he dragged his thumb over her lips and teased them open. She complied and parted them completely.

“For half an hour. I would have let you nap more than that, but your skin had started to wrinkle and I'm fairly certain that the bathtub is not the most comfortable arrangement to sleep in”.

To her it seemed like it had been more than that, but she wasn't about to argue over it. The calm tone of his voice, which seemed to rise and fall in sync with the candle flames, was far too soothing to bother.

“It's also possible that you passed out from the wine”, he cajoled and she chuckled playfully, “Can't blame you. This is the strongest stuff I've ever made”.

Andrea's jaw dropped, “You made this?”.

“Yes, I did”, he admitted.

“How? Where? Is there a secret cellar in this place that I don't know about?”, she asked with urgency. She loved red wine and the idea of this man actually making his own was terribly exciting.

“Sort of”, he admitted.

“Will you show me some day? Please?”, she smiled up at him, hoping he would say yes.

Loki pretended to think about it, tilting his head to the side and eyeing her with curiosity, before finally gracing her with an answer, “Of course I will”.

The secret cellar, as she had named it, was in fact his workshop. A large room, similar to a chemistry lab, only not so clean, which existed beyond time and space. It was a place accessed only by his magic, a rift in reality, where the outside world and its rules did not apply. It was something he had built when he was still young, with Frigga's help. They would sit together for hours, constructing it, making it practical and comfortable to work in. They spent a lot of time in there, studying, concocting and practising seidr against the law of the Allfather, who at the time, had forbidden it as a craft, under the excuse that it was too dangerous to be used. But inside the workshop, there weren't any laws. There was no Odin to forbid anything or pry into matters that he could not understand. There was only him and his affectionate mother, guiding him and teaching him how to survive with his wits and not his muscles, like her other son.

“What did you put in it that made it so strong?”, Andrea asked then, after realising that he had started to drift off to the past. To some memory that contorted his features into a pained expression that she didn't like to see. He was lost again, somewhere in his thoughts. His eyes betrayed it. They were sad and haunted by things he would perhaps never share with her. However, her voice and her general enthusiasm, seemed to cheer him up a little, so she took it as a sign that whatever took hold of him when he was secluded inside his own head, he could very well be dragged out of.

“Coffee powder from Kenya, which makes it bitter, a spoonful of caramel syrup from the best patisserie in France, which sweetens it just enough, passion fruit juice, from Vanaheim and a few drops of belladonna”, he informed.

“Oh, I see. Coffee and belladonna. You... you do know that belladonna is a kind of drug, right? So you basically drugged me. And here I thought I couldn't take my liquor any more”, she accused mockingly.

Loki's lips twitched into a wide grin, “No I did not drug you. But did it work?”.

Andrea laughed at that, but his face seemed to gradually gain a regretful expression and so she cut it short.

“I do apologize. I did not mean to make you pass out. You just drank it too quickly. I did not expect the effect it would have”, he said with a half smile, casting his eyes downwards.

“Hey... no”, she shook her head and placed her hand over his on her cheek, “It's alright, really. I didn't mind it. In fact, I needed the sleep”. That made both of them laugh, “And I am guessing we tiny little mortals are way too susceptible to alcohol, right?”.

He chuckled some more, nodding with his head, before starting teasing her lip again with his thumb, “Yes you are. But apart from that, you should know that this variety in specific could drug even Asgardians”.

She furrowed her eyebrows inquisitively, suddenly wishing to know more about his wine making, “How so?”.

Her questions seemed to spark him back to life and he didn't hesitate at all in replying, “Passion fruit juice from Vanaheim is one of the strongest aphrodisiacs, and when mixed with grapes and alcohol, it makes the perfect combination. One glass makes you dizzy. Light headed. A little careless. But a second...”, he paused, bathing himself in the curiosity of her green eyes, “... a second sparks your body's endorphins into a multiplication so rapid that it can bring about the hardest of sexual releases”.

Andrea sucked in a breath, her cheeks warmed up, especially the one trapped under his palm. She wanted to say something smart, like, _that was your plan all along, to get me drunk and horny, well you succeeded_ , but she found herself unable to. No matter how many times her lips parted, the words wouldn't come out. It was as if there was this hidden side of her that wished to be all sassy and bold, but the side that was shy and blushed easily pushed through each and every time. So, she kept quiet, lowering her eyes to the edge of the tub, contemplating how aroused she was and cursing at herself, because she wanted to let him know that he had done that to her. With his words and his self made wine and with this sweet gesture to draw her a bath and read to her until she was soundly asleep. But it was impossible for her to overcome the reservations she had grown up with, reservations that had come with the early teenage self discovery of her body.

Everything back home was wound up, oppressed and suppressed to the point where she had to bite down on the pillow every time she had an orgasm in her room, because she didn't even feel comfortable with releasing a simple sigh. She had always blamed it on the people that surrounded her. Personalities who hadn't experienced, as far as she knew, many great pleasures in life, so they thought that their children wouldn't, or shouldn't as well. But even that didn't make sense now, because in front of her, knelt a man who had no hints of shame, no inhibitions about his desires, no insecurities about his body. She had all the freedom in the world to meet his eyes and say, 'you know what you sweet little creation, what you just said, made my fucking vagina explode' and he would laugh and he would understand and he would, in time, do something about it! But she just couldn't open her mouth. All she could do was bpw her head, or look away and wait for him to take mercy on her and change the subject.

So torn, so conflicted she felt, so angsty that it made her chest heave. And her frustration was probably showing in her face, because Loki's brows furrowed and a concerned expression began overtaking his features.

“What troubles you?”, he inquired, his voice softer and gentler than most times. Almost hurt, if one didn't know how to tell his different baritones apart.

She shook her head, “Nothing”.

“Don't lie to me. You know it doesn't work”, he chuckled.

She raised her eyes to meet his and tried to find her words and put them into sentences, but she couldn't. Suddenly his hand on her cheek burned her and the thumb ghosting over her lips, felt inappropriate when it shouldn't, but she kept herself in check and did not pull away. She enjoyed him touching her, hell she felt like a voracious, exotic plant being watered in the middle of the desert every time he put his hands on her. There was no reason to recoil from him, just because he felt new and intense upon her complexion.

“Did what I said make you feel uncomfortable?”, he asked, his voice turning stern and distant. This was the first time he felt the need to make sure that his words hadn't had a bad effect on her, and she mentally cursed herself for making him reach such a conclusion. He'd said nothing wrong. He'd done nothing wrong. And the urge to assure him of it, pushed her to talk.

“No!”, she blurted out, “ No, please, no, it's not that”. She squeezed his hand on her cheek to emphasize the truth of her words.

She was trying too hard, Loki sensed it. There was a struggle behind her eyes between words and emotions and it didn't feel right to him. None of it felt right and he desperately wanted to discover why. It would be so easy to breech the shell of her head and pluck the answer out, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he put himself on the line, probing her with targeted questions that could perhaps coax some explanation out of her and direct him towards what he was supposed to do.

“Is it the opposite then?”, he cooed, “Did it make you feel nice?”.

“Everything you say makes me feel nice”, she whispered, her voice barely audible, “And things... things you do... make me feel nice”.

He smiled encouragingly and ran his thumb over her lower lip, set on pushing through the vagueness of her reply, “But there are some things that make you feel nicer than others, am I correct? You're thinking about them often, but just can't come to terms with them yet”.

Her innocent eyes widened and there was his answer. The little dancer belonged in a special category of people, whose minds couldn't easily catch up with their bodies. It was a cruel type of shyness, for it was cultivated into an individual's personality. She wasn't born with it. It wasn't a natural part of her code. She had proved it to him many a time, with knowing smirks and often sassy remarks and less often dirty innuendos. She was hiding a whole other woman underneath. A woman that was let out when she danced or when he flashed her out with his own personality, working as a counter reaction of sorts. That was why her shyness was cruelty. Because, it wasn't her first reaction to everything, but the mode she had learned to ran on, when in intimate situations. It was either that, or she got angry and slapped you across the face. Right now, he somehow wished for her to get _that_ physical with him, because her struggling internally to be who she wanted to be, but finding ahead of her self made obstacles, was killing him.

“Yes”, was all she said at first and then after a bit, continued, but sounded so small that it made him greet his teeth in agony, “It's like touching soft things. Your words. Sometimes... sweet gestures like these”, and she gave a look around the candlelit bathroom, “When I feel something with my hands, when I feel its texture, there's this little... uhm... tickling in my brain that alerts me that the feeling is indeed nice and that I want more of it. It relaxes me and it overwhelms me with satisfaction at the same time. So, it's like... your words have texture... and they touch me. Like your voice is something solid”. She paused again and this time, she withdrew her hand from his and slid it down his wrist to caress him.

“Where do my words touch you, little one?”, he pressed, not sure if she was going to deliver in on this one, “Do you think you can show me?”.

She seemed to be thinking about it for a second. Her brows were furrowed and her lips were pressing together, betraying a sort of debate with her own self. Her eyes darted right and left in a hurry, as if in front of her stood two psyches, one saying no and one saying yes. But then, she started shifting positions in the bathtub, trying to steady herself and sit up, so that she could indeed show him. He stopped her immediately, against his personal desires.

“No, no, it's alright”, he chuckled politely and took her hand in his to place it on his shoulder, “You can show me on my body. I'll understand”. _Yes, please do,_ he thought in agony, _because if you get out of the water in your bare state, I wont be able to keep my damn mouth away from you_.

The little dancer didn't say anything further, only eyed his body coyly. With a deep breath, she seemed to be accepting her fate and their mutual need to come clean about the situation. She looked up at him, her expression almost apologetic, for reasons he could not understand, and slowly moved her fingers down to his chest and pressed her palm against his heart.

He smiled at that and shut his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sound of his pulse bouncing against her stilled hand. He wondered if she could feel it too. How his heart screamed and tried to tear at his flesh, to rip him open , in a desperate quest to find her.

She removed her hand and lightly grazed her way down his shirt with her fingertips, until she abruptly stopped on his lower belly. He watched closely as she shut her eyes tightly and bowed her head, as if in defeat, before she, ever so gently, pressed her fingers on the spot where his obliques pointed sharply down to his loins. He listened carefully to her, sucking her breath in through her nose, almost violently and the next thing he felt was her tiny, in comparison to his tall and masculine body, hand drop lower and timidly press against the front of his pants, where his bulging need was almost always evident.

As soon as she had touched, she drew away, flattening her forearms at the edge of the tub and positioning her quivery chin on top. So light and rapid was the impact of her hand on his body that he second guessed he had felt it at all.

“Why so shy, my darling? Why draw away?”, he muttered, but she didn't give him an answer.

His heart stopped for a bit, from the sheer realisation that he was indeed affecting her that way. In all honesty, he already knew it. His presence near her, his caresses, his grips, his words, his gazes, all made her wet and soft and ready for him to do as he pleased. But it was one thing for a man to know such truth, and quite another for the woman he wanted to confirm it in front of his eyes. Unfortunately, the proud and joyful moment did not last long, because a little heart wrenching sob escaped her plush lips. She sounded like a small animal that knew it was about to be beaten brutally and the mere comparison his own mind drew made him wince. And that was when the second realisation hit him, hard, on the head, with an anguished urgency unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“Andrea, you can talk to me about these things. I have no barriers in my mind. No limits. No skirmish tendencies. You do know that, right?”, he stressed, keeping his voice as calm as possible, “There's no reason to feel shame. Not with me. Not with yourself”.

She swallowed hard, but didn't dare to look at him, “I know. It's just... I didn't always know and it hasn't been long since I... since I dragged myself out of an environment that... insisted I have to restrain these... urges, these thoughts. I'm... I still try to adjust. Who knows? Perhaps I became a stripper not just out of need, but out of spite too”.

Loki was positively furious, but did not let it show. Not with her. No, never with her, but with the people that had pushed her into those closed minded beliefs. Those petty, medieval ideas that couldn't possibly apply to nature and its creation. To humans, to Gods, to sexes. Thankfully, she had removed herself from the presence of such individuals, realising that they were doing her wrong and were guiding her into false views. Her body was still innocent, even though her mind wasn't, and he couldn't imagine how hard it must have been to have to keep it a secret from the people that were supposed to offer her advice and anchor her. It was a miracle that she had somewhat learned the pleasures her body could manifest. A miracle that her own mind wasn't bound to archaic stereotypes, passed on from family member to family member. But who was he kidding? She might be of a free mind, but the insecurities they had cultivated into her were still there, and these he needed to vanquish most of all.

“Was your family strict with such intimate matters?”, he asked, still trying to maintain a neutral stance.

Andrea shook her head no, “Well... I mean, kind of. Actually, I don't know. They never forbade me to do... stuff, but that was only because they didn't know... I was... already doing them. But they never talked about it with me. I had questions and doubts and things were happening to my... to my body and are still happening but they avoided the subject... consistently. So I just... stopped trying to get answers. And eventually... them avoiding it, made me avoid it as well. Until... well, I don't know. Something in me burst and I knew... I knew that they thought of things the wrong way. My body was telling the truth and I believed _that_... instead of them. I'm still so confused Loki. Parents fuck us up and we realise it only when it's too late. I was a young girl, you know, and when a young girl listens to her mother calling all of her friends, whores, just because they wore short skirts... how... how... what message do you think gets imprinted on my mind? I just... I can't...”.

He leaned forward and cradled her head in his large hands, relieved that she reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist, engaging in the hug immediately. He kissed the top of her head lovingly and rocked her a little to soothe the tension he had unintentionally caused her. It had been necessary that he know. Because now it was obvious to him what he was fighting against, how he had to educate her and how to help her free herself down to her bones. She was trying to be patient with herself and her needs, but he was well aware that patience was a virtue and virtue could be corrupted. In time, he would touch her like no other man had ever touched her before and he would help her do the same, without being afraid of her body's abilities or its sensations. He would navigate her unmapped waters and show her treasures hidden within her that she'd never dreamed of. But for now, he would wait and give her the chance to come to him.

“I'm sorry if I pushed you too hard, but I had to know what was eating at you so much”, he murmured against her hair.

She nuzzled her head against his stomach and murmured back that it was fine, but it wasn't enough to convince him.

“Andrea, listen to me, darling”, he began and tickled her earlobe with his fingers, “Are you listening?”.

Andrea chuckled, “Yes”.

He pulled away, releasing her head and sat back on his knees, while she assumed her previous position at the edge of the bathtub. She raised her eyes to meet his and she saw all the kindness and gentleness in the world in them and as he spoke, her heart leapt out of her chest.

“I want to help you”, he stated, “But you need to let me”, he proposed and cupped her face, the pad of his thumb going back to her lips to part them softly, “Please?”.

Andrea smiled at him, a wide, heavy with bravery and relief smile, and nodded, “I promise I will”.

“Thank you”, he whispered and bent forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead, before exhaling, satisfied with the results of the conversation, “Now... it's getting late and your fingertips are wrinkled to perfection, I believe. So, what do you say, we move the reading session to the bed? I've left you towels and something to wear by the sink”.

She nodded, “That's a great idea. I'm starting to feel really sleepy in here”.

“I'll wait outside, but before that, I wish to make something clear”, he stated boldly and took her hands in his, following her confused expression with his eyes. This last idea would either shock her or assist her to gather her wits about her and finally learn that whatever was happening inside her that she needed help with, she could come to him unashamedly and just... ask.

“May I have your consent to do just that?”, he requested, his voice dropping to a lower vibration.

“Am I about to be scolded?”, Andrea said, her eyes darting everywhere else but at him.

“Educated”, he corrected, chuckling quietly.

She nodded, with her head still lowered, but apparently it wasn't what he wanted from her.

“Look at me”, he ordered and she did and was met with that type of crude kindness she had learned to associate him with.

He slowly guided one of her hands under the water, without minding that the sleeve of his shirt was getting soaked, and placed it flat on her belly, keeping it there in a firm hold as he instructed, “Open up for me. Just a little is enough”.

She gasped, but didn't pull away. Instead she bravely did as he asked and in her lying position in the bathtub, she drew a leg closer to her chest, careful not to disturb the water and uncover herself.

He smiled warmly at her, not smirking, not grinning, simply smiling kindly, like a teacher proud of his student's progress.

“Good girl”, he praised and without wasting any more time, he slowly slid their hands downwards to her womanhood.

Her breathing quickened, her confidence finding the worst time to disappear, as he used his hold to help her cup her entire underside with her palm, but without allowing his skin to come into any kind of contact with her most intimate parts.

“This...”, he said gently, squeezing the upper side of her hand against herself. She nodded with her head, struggling to maintain eye contact, but doing it anyway, only because he had asked. She tried to focus on his actions and what they were meant to show her, but in this moment, under his hot, firm grip, all she could think about was that just a slip of his hand and he would discover just how wet she was or just how uncut.

Her other hand, he brought to the front of his pants and pressed it flat against him, so that she could feel all of him under the rough fabric. His cock stirred a little at the tender contact, but it was nothing so major that she couldn't handle.

“... and this...”, Andrea gasped again, but quieter this time, and her eyes widened, not quite believing what she was actually touching, how... big it was or how... hard it felt. She was far too captivated by the sensuality and underlying forcefulness of his actions to think rationally. Far too lost in his black eyes to even acknowledge that she was almost grabbing a cock through jeans.

“... make us something, if nothing else. Denying that they are needy parts, refusing to understand how they work, averting our eyes and shimmying away, is a crime. Against ourselves and against nature herself. Are we in agreement, little one?”, he finally concluded.

Andrea nodded quickly, kind of wishing that she could stop touching him so straight forwardly, and thankfully, he removed her hands from their private parts and brought them up to his lips, turning them, to place a long gentle kiss that tickled.

“In time, you will come to understand how sacred they are. They were not designed to intimidate you with their strength, but help you define your own”, he breathed against her skin and smirked like the devil himself, before letting go of her completely and getting up.

“I'll be on the bed. Take your time”, was all he said as a conclusion to his lesson, before he strode off and out of the bathroom, magicking the marble table and the chair out of existence, Gatsby tucked under his arm and leaving the door open, as was usual.

 _You crazy hippie heathen_ , was all Andrea kept repeating, staring at her hands while not being very sure that this was a normal reaction over what had just happened. She shook her head disbelievingly and got out of the bathtub with a strange smile on her face. _He touched me_ . It was balancing between confusion and sheer joy and for the first time in a while, she truly felt relaxed and at the top of her head. As she dried herself with the warm towels he had left for her by the sink, all she could do was cast curious glances at the woman in the mirror and wonder in true astonishment how much she had changed, because of this man. _I, touched him_. This man who had just proven to her so many basic things about life and about needs and about bodies, treating her as an adult all the while, even if it was scary. A man who was waiting for her on the bed to read Gatsby.

 _What have I done to deserve this?_ , was all she could think about, as she dragged the towel down her legs, rubbing it against her skin urgently, counting how many minutes were spent away from him.

 

Casting a quick look towards the clothes he had left for her, she spotted no other than the cream coloured baby doll and a pair of light pink panties with lace at the waistband. Typical. Since she had worn them that night to dance for him, he had taken every opportunity to have her put them on again. Sometimes, he would snatch them from the pile of dirty laundry, magic them into cleanliness and throw them into the drawer so that he didn't have to wait for the washing machine to do its, apparently, slow job. She was certain he had developed some sort of kink for them and tonight, she would not deny him the pleasure of wearing them. Not after what he'd just done. Not after this bath. Not after his sweet hearted biology demonstration. To rob him off that simple happiness in life would be insolence and she was by far not an insolent and uncaring person.

 

She dressed and fluffed her hair a little to restore their messiness, taking a final look at the mirror to inspect herself. Somehow she felt different. Softer at heart and kinder in the spirit and definitely more carefree. These new traits seemed to suit her a bit and she smiled at the woman in the mirror, bringing her hands up to run her fingers over her clavicles, trying to feel the body she was born in. She shivered at the contact and lowered one down to cup a breast. She didn't have a reason for doing it, but she gave it a light squeeze, caressing the nipple with her thumb. It was instantly brought to attention, straining against the fabric. She drew tiny circles in her stomach and belly, trying to figure out how her _own_ touch felt different than his, until she finally reached down, between her legs and cupped herself, reminiscing how Loki had pressed her hand there previously. She looked in the mirror and for the first time, really saw herself. The rosy cheeks and the dark eyes. The wild hair and the crease between her brows. Her broad bone structure and bold features in the centre. Her lips, so moisturised and blood red. If she was him, she would love to kiss them. Did he? Did he want to kiss her? Was this the woman he was seeing every day? She had thought she was someone entirely different. Someone less beautiful.

When she left the bathroom and headed towards the bed, he was already

under the covers, naked and stunning underneath, with his back against the headboard and his hands behind his neck. He was staring ahead, his brows furrowed as if in deep thought, until she climbed on the bed beside him and shook him back into the present. The serious frown went away the moment she covered herself up to the shoulders with their furry blankets and laid her head on his chest, both arms wrapping around his torso.

Now he was smiling with pure adoration, moving his hands to grab the book from the night stand and pull her closer to him. She lovingly nuzzled her face against his bare skin, her fingers clutching at his side, getting the tactile contact they yearned for.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?”, he mused.

“Absolutely, handsome”.

He grinned at the sound of the pet name she was associating him with as of late and opened the book slowly to a page in chapter two. He didn't understand how it was possible, but his heart beat a little faster when she called him that and before he began reading, he wondered if that was how she felt each time he called her 'little dancer'.

 

“ _People disappeared, reappeared, made plans to go somewhere, and then lost each other, searched for each other, found each other a few feet away. Sometime toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs Wilson stood face to face discussing, in impassioned voices, whether Mrs Wilson had any right to mention Daisy's name_ ”.

 

That night as they peacefully fell asleep, Loki's back still against the headboard and the book he was holding, now balanced open on top of Andrea's head, the young woman had that dream again. About a monstrous sea that turned into ice. About a man that wouldn't stop nourishing himself with her breasts and about the daisies falling on the hard snowy surface, like omens of spring after a rough winter.

 


	20. the prince is busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is getting on normally. Loki and Andrea are at their best terms and all seems right in the world. However, there's a new storm roaring somewhere in the horizon, specifically, in the United States of America, where a certain technological genius happens to stumble upon something quite disturbing. Or so he believes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everybody! Nice to be back with the next chapter of the story. Finally, I have found the next sort of peak, the next dramatic arch of events. Of course, nothing could compare to Andrea's almost rape experience and abuse, but this one problem I have going on for the two characters is very defining and really shows how they will act under difficult situations and revelations. I hope I make it good and satisfying. I have no faith in myself and in my writing that I will, but I nurture the tiniest bit of hope. I'm a very negative person, you should know that. 
> 
> There's a small reference in this chapter, from Loki's point of view. If it's not clear, allow me to make it. The fairy tale he is talking about is Alice in Wonderland by C.S Lewis. Loved Alice's adventures in Wonderland, as a child and I can't hide it from you, I still read them from time to time. 
> 
> **As always, pictures are burrowed from the web. I claim no rights for them, since those rights belong to their respective owners. They are just being copy pasted here to make me look good and professional. 
> 
> Have a good read! And I'll see you next week! Bye bye!

The next morning they woke up in the exact same position they had slept in, only Andrea's head had dropped onto Loki's stomach and her hand was stretched across his lap, instead of his chest. The book the God had been reading from, still rested on top of her head, open to some random page. Truth been told, the pair of them could assume any position during sleep, even the most uncomfortable ones, not to mention, there was no waking them up once they did so. Perhaps that stemmed from having been tormented by nightmares as long as they could remember themselves. Awfully realistic nightmares, episodes of their lives they'd rather forget. But now that they had found mutual comfort in each other's presence on the king sized bed stationed centimetres from the enormous windows that gave them the best view of the sky, this horrendous condition had ceased to plough their minds and sleep, came as easily and lightly as the shiver of a breeze travelling underneath the skin.

With his arm still around her shoulders, he had perfect access to her bush of hair and so, as was ordinary, he was messing it up, picking the locks up, twisting them in his fingers, letting them fall in front of her face, tickling her nose and making her sneeze or giggle. Andrea was busying herself with enjoying every single minute of his playtime and simply lay there, her body pressed against his side and her head safely resting on the spot between his stomach and belly. She was gazing out the window, marvelling at the first snowflakes of winter as they hit the glass and then slowly melted into icy tears.

The weather broadcast she had checked the other day on her phone, said that it was about time for the first snow to fall and that usually, winter in Edinburgh didn't wait until the ending of December to come. But soon, they predicted, the whole of Scotland would be dressed in white, some regions up north more than others. She couldn't wait, if she had to be honest with herself. All the Scots might curse her for it, but she wanted the cold and the thick white snow underneath her boots more than anything. It never snowed in fucking Greece.

“What time is it?”, Loki asked then, interrupting her thoughts.

Andrea stretched her body over his to reach for her phone on the night stand and touched the screen. She groaned.

“It will be eight o'clock in one minute”, she informed him and dropped back into her previous position, pressing herself against him and splaying her fingers wide on his chest muscle, before sliding them down to enjoy the tactile feeling of him. The next best thing, after waking up in his warm embrace and watching the snow for the first time, was hugging his middle. She felt this weird kind of pride every time she wrapped her arms around him, because despite him being gigantic, her hands managed to clasp and trap him completely, utterly shielding him against her body.

“Mrs Granzioni will be here any second now”, he announced, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He sounded somewhat irritated, which was quite adorable and amusing, really. She knew how he liked to stay in bed, longer than he had to, but the housekeeper always dragged them both out of it and roused them awake to get on with the day.

“Yeah, I know. She's punctual, isn't she?”.

“To the core”.

“But we need her, don't we?”, she suggested, to cheer him up a little, “We'll coax her into making us breakfast, so that we can have a few more minutes, hmm?”.

Loki chuckled at that and leaned down to kiss the top of her head, “You manipulative little heathen, of course we will”.

She laughed too and nuzzled her face against him as he continued petting her hair in a lazy rhythm.

“I'm not a heathen, you're a heathen”, she muttered cheekily.

Just then, they heard the door swing open and then close. The housekeeper came into view seconds later with her red coat still on and some snowflakes in her hair. When she saw them, sprawled out in bed, Loki completely naked, with a sheet barely covering him, and Andrea with her hands around him, her heart became a little warmer. But she wasn't the kind of woman to show affection very often and so she moved straight ahead to the scolding part.

“Pants on, boy. There's a lady in the house”, she said, putting her hands on her hips.

The two busted lovebirds broke into muffled giggles, before Loki rubbed his face and wished her, “Good morning to you too”.

“Good morning”, Andrea said too, following his example and trying to summon her 'innocent flower' face to pull on her trick.

She groaned, feigning discomfort and whined in a fake tired voice, “Oh, Mrs Granzioni, would you be so kind as to start breakfast without me? I will join you in a couple of minutes, it's just that...”, she tried to keep her expression neutral, but a little smile broke through, betraying her intentions, “... I woke up with a terrible headache”.

The woman raised her eyebrows until they reached her hairline, and began to shake her head up and down in acknowledgement, as she darted her eyes between Andrea's lying ass and Loki's evil grin.

“Obviously”, she finally said, a tinge of amusement coating her voice. Without another word, she turned around and abandoned the bedroom area to move to the kitchen, all the while shaking her head in disbelief.

When she was safely out of earshot, Loki leaned in abruptly, grabbed Andrea from underneath the blankets and dragged her roughly on top of him, until she was forced to straddle his lap. She slightly bounced against him as he pulled her closer by the waist, but she braced her hands on his shoulders and and quickly steadied herself. She positioned her knees firmly on either side of him, struggling not to laugh or squeal, as he gripped the backs of her thighs, looking at her with mischief brewing in his irises.

“I have to teach you how to lie better, little dancer”, he cocked an eyebrow, “That was a disgrace back there”.

Andrea didn't know why she always liked his sassy humour, but she smiled widely and fought back her laughter, “Oh really? Then, by all means, handsome”. 

He briefly squeezed her thighs and then, when she wasn't expecting it, he slid his hands up her body and tickled her sides roughly, forcing her to bend forward and cry out in laughter and breathless protests.

As quickly as it had happened, it was over and now there was silence between them, silence and closed eyes, slow breathing and foreheads resting against one another. She blindly tucked some strands of raven hair behind his ears and he returned his hands to her thighs, kneading the flesh softly with his thumbs, but never touching above the ends of her round delicious rump.

They reluctantly let go. She went to the kitchen to help with breakfast, as promised, and he went to the closet to get dressed, his hands burning with the need to touch her again, his ears longing to hear the ringing sound of her laugh. But he shook his head, curled his fingers into fists and willed himself to stay in control, reminding his needy body and aching heart that last night the little dancer had made an enormous step. Allowing him to be around, when she was naked, speaking to him about such an intimate matter, while being in the most vulnerable capacity she could ever be, and above all, not shying away when he made her cup herself and touch him. No, he couldn't ask for more right now. Perhaps not for a long time, actually. He needed to give her time to digest all this, the new experiences and his sensory assaults, which mind you, she enjoyed very much, but were yet a new addition in her life. Time was the key.

About twenty minutes after, all three of them, were sitting at the table having breakfast and talking about this and that, enjoying each other's company, as well as the tasty food. It was an unusual scene, Loki thought, but the two women didn't seem to notice. They kept on mumbling something about Italian recipes, while he watched half amused, half terrified.

To him, the three of them looked like the Mad Hatter's tea party from that fairytale the little dancer liked. But instead of Alice, the Hatter, the March Hare and the dormouse, at the table sat a nineteen year old angel in a baby doll , an old woman from Italy with connections to the MAFIA and the former King of the greatest Norse kingdom in the history of men and Gods. It was mad, but at the same time, the closest to a normal domestic life Loki had ever been. That fact should have made him feel like a common man, no different than the trillion living on this planet. But instead, he felt like a King once more, in spite of the fact that there was no state power to feed off or royal subjects to subjugate. Asgard might be gone, indeed, but perhaps it didn't matter to him that much any more. This penthouse felt like a palace and across from him sat a Queen. His Queen.

“I still don't understand what you do to those omelettes, darling. Look...”, Mrs Granzioni indicated towards his plate, “... he has eaten seven. I'm going to have to go to the supermarket again to get more eggs!”.

“Seriously, will you stop shaming me on how much I eat?”, he cajoled, but shot her a dead serious glare.

“How will I have fun then?”, the old woman said and darted her tongue out stubbornly.

Andrea smiled as she looked at the both of them. Loki had been awfully quiet all morning and it was nice to see him participate a little in the conversation, even if it included exchanging insults with his housekeeper. There was something in his eyes, when he caught her staring at him, something unreadable that made her blush and clutch at the gathered fabric of the baby doll between her legs, under the table.

“I... there's... there's nothing special about them. I just like making them for...”, she glanced briefly towards him again, “... for him. I guess a little love is added inconsequently”.

She grabbed the coffee cup in front of her and drank the last of the contents, before smiling to the housekeeper graciously and getting up.

“Excuse me, I have to go change for my classes”, she came around the table, with a lovely shade of pink on her cheeks and added, blinking at Loki, “Be back in a minute, handsome”.

He followed her with his eyes as she disappeared inside the closet, taking in her figure and relishing at the sound of his pet name, all activities taking place so quickly that he just sat with a dumbfounded expression on his face, fingers wrapped around the cold mug of coffee as if it was the only thing keeping him in touch with reality.

From the other side of the table, Mrs Granzioni did everything in her power not to laugh at the stupid way his mouth hang open, forming something like a smile, but not quite. His eyes were glued to the closet door, but there was no angry green and scornful blue depicted in them. There hadn't been since the day he made her aware of Andrea's existence.

She cleared her throat to get his attention, “So, handsome...”.

His head snapped towards her direction, but instead of the usual scowl she always associated him with, she observed, shocked and dumbfounded, how he started to fidget in his chair and how the corners of his lips twitched up into a shy smile. He wasn't blushing, that would be absurd, but he wasn't looking her straight in the eye either. He seemed uncomfortable, restless, but not the type of restless she had been witnessing for two years. This was the type of restlessness of a man who tries to contain something uncontainable within him, because he's scared that if he lets it show, someone will snatch it away from him.

“I'm guessing it's going good between you two”, she made an introduction, resting her forearms on the table, ready to assume her role as life advisor once more.

“Define good”, he grinned, summoning his cold mask of stupid manly sternness so that she couldn't read him.

“I mean she just called you 'handsome' and you smiled like a school kid and she makes you omelettes, adding a little love to them ,'inconsequently', and every time you look at her like you want to eat her alive she blushes and looks away and she walks around the house in her undies and a baby doll, has no problem sleeping with your naked ass on the bed, and who knows what you're doing to her at nights, she is practically glowing-”.

“Alright, alright, you made your point”, he cut her off, waving his hand about to shush her. His voice didn't sound annoyed though, which only served as confirmation for the housekeeper that things were indeed going well.

After a moment of quiet, careful calculation as to what he was going to share, he said in a serious voice, “She trusts me, Lucia. Perhaps more than I deserve. And she talks to me about herself, even though she doesn't feel particularly inclined to most of the time, but I seem to bring it out of her, so I must be doing something right”, he paused for a bit to bend and shake his head, as if he didn't believe his own words.

“She doesn't seem much traumatised by what... almost happened to her at that alley. I mean, apart from the fact that she's hesitant about walking on the streets alone, there's nothing else to indicate that she still somehow relives it. I am most glad for it, really”.

“That's good. That's very good, Loki”, she assured and nodded with her head to emphasize her point, “What else?”.

His eyes darted upwards to meet hers, not sure if he should continue talking about their relationship. But then again, there were blanks that needed to be filled between him and the little dancer and the kind hearted woman sitting across him could perhaps give some advice. She had proved herself useful in the past, after all.

“We are free from etiquettes, she and I. It is almost like a game. We provoke each other to take what we need, whether that's some comforting words, or a touch, or an embrace. I walk her to and back from the University, I help her study, we help each other sleep better at night. She cooks, we eat together, we are having... fun. Simple, but important things really. She accepts me and I her. There are no differences, no false pretences. She gives me what she can and I thank her for it on my knees”.

Mrs Granzioni's face broke into a warm smile, “That's wonderful news”, and then leaned forward, in a bit of a conspirational manner and said quietly, “Are you two intimate?”.

He shook his head, a bit sad, a bit regretful, a bit amused, but patient, “We are intimate, alright. Just not like that. I... haven't allowed myself to touch her more than she is comfortable with. And-”, he paused, not sure how to proceed.

“Is it complicated?”, the old woman inquired, her brows now furrowed in concern.

Loki nodded, agreeing, “Yes. Well, at first, I didn't think it was that serious, but now it's quite different. Now she has told me some things that I didn't know before”.

“Like?”.

“It's her past, Lucia. It's always the past, I believe, with most people. She's no exception”.

“You're talking in riddles. Has she told you something specific that led you to believe that?”.

He chuckled, “To be honest, I' m not certain of it. She gives me bits and pieces every time, but she does it in her own volition, so I do not push her”, and then his face darkened a little, as he remembered the nature of this information.

“She's been deprived off things that no child- no individual- should be deprived off and I'm not talking about materialisms here. She's been taught to hide and mask her feelings, her softness, her affections, her identity. It's cruel, and I think it all leads back to her family environment, somehow. Call it a hunch”.

“Well, that reminds me of someone”, she commented jokingly, making him half smile. 

But then he shook his head as if denying it, “Perhaps our backgrounds are similar, but at least I had Frigga's love, a love I still feel around me when I bring her to mind. Andrea...”, he paused to rub his lower lip, in search of the right words, “When she talks about these things, about things from the past that are somehow dragged into her current state, there is not an ounce of love inside her. She avoids sharing more than she has to, because she is obviously wounded by whatever has happened to her. And I'm trying to get through to her, give her everything she's been denied, show her that she is not unworthy of them, without pushing her to give me the details. But sometimes, I just wish I knew, so that I could help her better”, he cast a look towards the still closed door and then turned back to the housekeeper, “It's the first time... my first time trying to truly help another, and I have to admit, I do not feel entirely confident about it”.

Mrs Granzioni nodded and reached across the table to squeeze his hand, “There isn't much you can do, but wait. You're giving her time, that's good. Give her more. Family matters are always the worst, you know that very well. Just remember how long it took _you_ to open up to me and draw your conclusions from that. There will come a time, when there will be no secrets between you two and you will look back at this moment and not realise why you and I are having this conversation right now”.

“You believe so?”.

“Of course I do. Perhaps... if you like... you can tell her something of your past too. Perhaps it will urge her on to share something from her own. Perhaps it will not. But the gesture itself will speak to her-”.

“Well, I think she understands things better when she sees them put into action, not into words”.

“Try!”, she reprimanded, “And if it doesn't work, that is okay too. Just keep being there for her. Keep that smile on her face. She looks even more beautiful when she smiles”.

He had to smirk at that. The little dancer indeed shamed the sun when she gifted him with her smiles. Smiles that he'd brought on her usually melancholy face. He nodded at his housekeeper, confirming that he would indeed try out her advice and watched her as she got up and gathered the plates from the table, signalling the end of the conversation.

The face of this kind, elderly woman was warm and satisfied, as if she felt better herself for having contributed at least a little bit in setting proper foundation in his bond with Andrea and for a minute, the picture of his mother flashed before his eyes. Beautiful and wise Frigga had always advised him in the matters of the heart, before he lost her and it. He found himself wishing that he could have said something more to her, in that cell, and not those harsh words, before her illusion evaporated beneath the desperate touch of his hands. He wished he had told her something truthful.

“I told you once that satisfaction is not in my nature”, he stated, his tone stern and distant, “I said the same thing to my brother and implied it to my mother more times than I can count”.

Mrs Granzioni stopped piling up the plates and turned to look at him straight in the eye, smiling encouragingly.

Loki leaned in and placed his forearms on the table, staring back at her, but the woman in front of him was now taller, with hair golden and shiny that fell to her shoulders like waterfalls of lava and eyes as blue as Asgard's morning sky.

“I was wrong”.

The housekeeper's smile widened ten times and she nodded, understanding somehow that he didn't need her to confirm this fact, but simply listen to him say it out loud. She felt proud of him and proud of Andrea for having managed to make him nurture feelings he had thought himself incapable of for so long. That man had come a long way from surly and abandoned to kind and accepting and it was a transformation worthy of praise.

“I'm ready”, Andrea chirped unexpectedly, as she strode back into the living room. She sat next to him and he immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her in for a sweet forehead kiss.

He looked at her like a man with new purpose and meaning, soothed and satisfied maybe for the first time in his centuries of life.

“Let's go”.

 

***

 

                                                                           

“No, Val, darling, not-”, Thor blurted out in a futile attempt at stopping his beloved from throwing the cellphone across the room, “-again”.

Once the little communication device shuttered against the wall of the common room with a loud crack, he shut his one good eye and frowned in defeat. That was the twentieth cellphone Valkyrie destroyed since they had landed on Earth to begin a new life and now, its tiny metallic remnants lay on the floor, waiting for the cleaning lady of Avengers Compound to come, pick them up and throw them away.

He watched Val from the couch, as she paced around the living room, anxious and angry, looking out the enormous windows into the exterior of the establishment, the trees and the city beyond it, like a caged animal, like a captured bird longing for the freedom of the sky, before ending up behind Stark' s bar to pour herself a drink to calm down. She dawned it without blinking and when she realised that one small glass was too little, she dropped it without care into the sink and grabbed the bottle instead. Thor sighed, as he got up and joined her with a look of sadness mixed with sympathy on his face.

“May I have some of that?”, he asked, to test the waters.

She stopped drinking for a second and answered, “No”.

“Val, it's alright. You will get used to it at some point. I'm certain of it. You used to fly a spaceship and handle so much technological equipment back in Sakaar. A cellphone is nothing”, he assured her, but she didn't look convinced.

“I flew that spaceship for centuries, hell, before you were even born Thor! And Sakaarian tech is easier to handle than... than that devil”, she spat and took another gulp of whiskey straight from the bottle.

He couldn't blame her for feeling like that. At first he couldn't get around using the specific device as well, but with time and practice he had learned it and so had mastered yet another of the human creations for making life easier, aside from the shower system and the coffee machine.

A month perhaps after landing the spaceship on Earth, he and Tony Stark had worked out and created a rehabilitation program to help the Asgardians adjust to this new way of life and to be educated in the workings of this strange little green and blue planet.

The first year, his people had been living in secure locations around the Compound alongside specialists and teachers, who spent a great amount of time educating them on how to operate things, how to speak, read and write in the common tongue and how to get used to dressing code, human lodgings and culture.

By the second year, he had been proud to discover that most of them had moved on to owning their own homes and had found work placement to support themselves financially. Some had even forged relationships with the humans, blending in and starting new families. Of course Stark kept them under daily supervision in case they needed help with anything, but they seemed to be doing fine and above all, they were happy, despite the heart clenching separation from home and the dreadful memories of watching Asgard, the Realm Eternal, home to Gods and Goddesses, burn and explode before their eyes. They truly seemed to have moved on, having found a new purpose and a reason to continue living.

Unfortunately, Valkyrie did not belong in this category. She had somewhat adjusted, yes, and had even agreed on wearing normal, everyday clothes, from time to time, instead of armour, but Earth did not agree with her completely. She was a warrior, born and bred in battle. A fierce royal commander with bravery and courage stronger than most men's. And after that, in Sakaar, she had been a Scavanger, a hunter, a missionary and a well paid assassin. She had created a name for herself, a reputation, but here on this planet, all that had been suddenly taken away. Of course, she could assume her previous occupation, but sadly, what was considered an achievement on Sakaar, was labelled as criminal activity on Earth and thus was not an option.

That was why Thor had insisted she become an Avenger and join him in his duty to protect Earth and its people. It hadn't taken any coaxing at all for her to agree, as soon as she realised that keeping this planet safe often included having to engage in combat and violent behaviour. That was her element, her calling, and once she saw the opportunity to do something she was adept in and liked very much, she took it.

From that point on, they fought together, drank and celebrated together, slept in the grass and the mud some nights, under the stars like true warriors, while trying to search for Asgard in the stars. They never found it, for it was gone forever, but in those two full years on this planet, they found each other and stuck with that. They were each other's bodies of memories of a long lost home, of a civilization that had so devastatingly eclipsed and of a culture that would be remembered only through its still breathing people, because Asgard was nothing but that any more. Its people.

He gave her a half smile and came around the bar to take her by the waist and make her forget that bottle in her hands and the constant failing to operate the cellphone, even for a couple of flitting moments. Getting a good grip on both her sides, he lifted her up and placed her on the counter top, before settling his body between her legs. He brushed her long hair away from her angry face and kissed her hard, drawing away only to allow both of them some seconds to catch their breath.

“If you so wish it, we can stop trying with the phone. I will have Stark make you a spaceship to use instead”, he joked, his voice as bold as the whiskey she'd been drinking earlier and raw from their kiss.

Valkyrie laughed loudly at that and punched him hard on the shoulder. Hearing the sound of those boisterous chuckles always warmed up his heart, amongst other parts. But before he had the chance to crash his lips against hers again and indulge, Stark called out from somewhere behind him.

“Point Break, need to talk to you. Do you think you can contain your little Mjolmnir for a couple of moments?, he said in his usually sarcastic tone.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes in a dismissive gesture, before grabbing the whisky bottle and hopping off the bar bench.

“Be quick about it”, she ordered and gave Thor a hard shove on the chest, before walking off, out of the common room.

When she was gone, Thor turned around and joined Stark, who was leaning against the window by the couch. He tried to look as patient and friendly as possible, ignoring the heaviness in his crotch, but in truth he just wanted to get over with whatever was the matter quickly and go find Val.

“What's wrong?”, he asked the dark haired man.

“Got some good news on the case your brother so benevolently sent us. Turns out he wasn't lying, I know, how disturbing. The place he told you about is very very real and packed with illegal DVDS of various contents, believe me I saw some and now I wish I hadn't”, Tony informed, a suggestive little smile playing at the corner of his lip.

“Had a couple of friends from the FBI who have a couple of friends in Scotland Yard, issue a search warrant immediately. Place got shut down, buddy, and its manager has been transferred to a prison here in America, facing pornography charges and much more. And I can assure you, charges like these account to many many years time in the metal cot, behind bars”.

Thor nodded in understanding and squeezed Stark' s shoulder in gratitude, “That is wonderful news. Loki will be pleased to hear it. I think I shall call him immediately and let him know”.

He started pulling away, but Tony placed a hand on his arm, stopping him from getting too far.

“Just you wait a minute, blondie. Since you brought it up, I have a question for you”, he said, but Thor didn't really understand where this was going and watched with brows furrowed, as Stark took a step back and pressed some buttons on the watch around his wrist.

“Friday, gimme the footage you recorded this morning, will ya?”, he spoke out loud to the program and in less than two seconds, a hologram appeared in the middle of the living room, simulating a crowded street in front of what Thor assumed, was a very old and rustic educational institution.

“I don't under-”, he started to say, but Tony cut him off.

“Just you wait for it”.

Thor turned his eyes back to the simulation, waiting to see what the other man meant. Everything seemed quiet and normal so far. There was a light sheet of snow coating the street. People walked and talked, minding their own businesses and going in different directions. They were dressed warmly and held hot beverages in their hands. Many held backpacks, briefcases or umbrellas to shield themselves from the wetness of the falling snow.

And then Loki came into view. Dark and taller than everyone else on the street, dressed in a black elegant coat, with a paper cup in his hand. Thor squinted his eyes to look at the hologram better. Was there a woman by his side? Was she walking along with him? A second later, a few people moved out of the way and the image was clearer than before. The God of Thunder's lips parted in shocked surprise.

His brother was walking on the street with an arm around a lean and equally tall woman's waist. Her hair was dark, almost as dark as Loki's, short and sprinkled with a few snowflakes. She was dressed in a long grey coat and had an emerald backpack on her shoulders and a paper cup, similar to Loki's, in her hand. At one point, she turned her head to the side and smiled widely at the man beside her, before moving her hand behind his back to place it on his hip, mimicking his hold. But what was even stranger than that, was that the brutish, usually angry and infinitely dissatisfied man, was smiling back at her with a glimmer of pure joy in his cold eyes.

“What's your brother doing with a uni student, slash, ex stripper?”, Tony said, but Thor paid him no mind. His gaze was stuck to the seemingly happy pair walking down the street, with no worry or care in their minds.

 


	21. a dangerous man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briefly transported to the United States of America, concern and a mild chaos, one could say, erupt in Avengers Compound over the God of Mischief's latest activities. Thor and some unexpected allies will be the ones to try and sort out the mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! Well at least it's morning here. Actually it's very early in the morning. It's 02:32, but I had no choice but to post this chapter so early, because I'm sort of leaving for Manchester at 07:20 and you know the drill, I'm guessing. Gotta be at the airport two hours earlier and stuff, need to get ready beforehand and bluh bluh! Also, another little notification concerning chapters. The next one, chapter 22, will not be posted on Thursday as is usual, but on Wednesday, very early in the morning, because I'm travelling again, this time to Scotland and I wont be having my laptop with me. I'm going to the place where my romantic story sprang out from! Isn't that exciting!!!? 
> 
> A little note concerning this particular chapter, careful it's a little spoiler. Valkyrie and Loki's ''quickie'' is by no means a canon circumstance. I created for this fic specifically because it served a purpose, the purpose of making Valkyrie form a very certain, very straight forward opinion about Loki. It's not valid though in the Cinematic Universe nor in Norse Mythology. 
> 
> This mainly informative chapter, although it's not without its sexy surprises, poses a great set stone of sorts, because you get to read about Loki during those first months at the Compound, after the Asgardians had freshly landed on Earth, stranded and with no direction. You see that although Loki had been cast out he wasn't all alone, without allies. There were people supporting him and urging him on to stay. But at the end, they just weren't enough. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, thanks for the kudos and the comments! They're all lovely and so comforting. I'm checking my inbox every day because they give me so much life!

A meeting was called immediately after Thor had seen all the footage from the street in Scotland and although he had insisted that this new development did not require the input and assistance of the whole team, Tony had completely shut his ears and done what he wanted anyway, awash in the belief that the matter was of universal security importance. Thor had no other choice but to comply. Besides, he wasn't the one making the decisions when it came to humans, as he was only here on Earth for their protection, not their handling. And whether he liked it or not, he was responsible for Loki's actions, since firstly, the others didn't trust him in the least bit and secondly, he was the one who had agreed at the end to let him go loose in the wider world.

So here they were, all gathered around the round table, like medieval knights set on protecting the innocent humans from dragons and witches, in this case all that being his brother's wickedness and ill meaning. Unfortunately, as it seemed, the majority of the Earth's mightiest heroes had no compassionate bone in their bodies towards him. Thor knew that that was to be expected. One does not simply come to Earth with an army of Chitauri, claiming to be said planet's new king and then doing everything in their power to achieve that goal and walk out without even a mild monitoring of their everyday activities or the general strong suspicion of the planet's defenders towards their person. Anything but that would be absurd and reckless.

And yet, no matter how natural their reaction was, it stung to hear their accusations and vulgar opinions about his own brother and what's more, about the woman on his side, a woman they didn't even know personally. A woman that they had never conversed with, but were too quick to judge solely because she used to work in a brothel and was holding Loki by the waist, smiling up at him full of joy and bliss. Thor didn't want to admit it, but it was pettiness that his fellow Avengers and friends were exhibiting and he didn't like it one bit.

In the past, he had tried and failed many times to convince the others that Loki had changed. He had told them how he had successfully ruled over Asgard for four years, even if it was under the guise of Odin. He had insisted that he'd been a valuable asset in the fight against Hela and that in the end, he was the one that had saved the people from Surtur's wrath, despite his occasional betrayals and shifty moods. When they had finally landed on Earth the God of Mischief had made a valiant effort to help in missions and had tried to fit in as much as his mischievous nature would allow, but the humans were headstrong and couldn't easily bent their judgement once it was made.

Thor had attempted many times to bring him along on the field, but the others always benched him and instructed that he stayed behind to protect the Compound. The already guarded and fortified Compound, that is. After a while, every last one of them, even people from the secretary and reception offices would talk foully of him or ignore his existence completely, the later being the kindest way of treatment. Eventually, Loki had begun to isolate himself. When a mission would come up, he would be the first to take his leave from the meeting room, without being told to do so, so that the others could talk with freedom about the details of their plan. He would stay locked up in his quarters, reading and staying silent longer than was expected from his character. His skill and cunning in the battle field were going to waste, Thor knew that, but every time he tried to talk to the others, they would ignore him too or would remind him what his brother had done in New York for the millionth time. The fact that Loki hadn't even apologised for it, or showed any remorse for his actions, only worsened the situation and infuriated the Avengers even more.

Valkyrie didn't really care to support his brother's case, but Thor understood why and didn't press her. She had her own adjustment issues to worry about and thus, he had been left with only one ally, a very unexpected, but nonetheless, welcome ally. The Maximoff girl. The newest and youngest member of the team, who after her unfortunate dealings with Ultron and her brother's tragic death, had been recruited by her own request to help keep Earth safe from harm and to Thor's good fortune, she had also supported him in his struggle to include Loki in the team as well as in missions. He still couldn't figure out why she had taken his side so easily, but had definitely believed her when she had told him that his brother was just alone and thought himself unwanted, even when he wasn't, and to quote her, ''too weird'', just like herself. Shooting energy off the tips of your fingers wasn't something that the team enjoyed dealing with very often.

Those first couple of months at the Compound, the little witch had been the only one to address him and treat him like an actual person, but Loki had been too far gone to understand that he was being given attention. The poor girl had even tried to share her telekinetic tricks with him, but he had shut her out, believing her to be one of Stark' s little experiments to try and tackle his good behaviour. To see if he would snap. To plant an excuse out of nowhere and imprison him in some fortified cell, feign that he was too dangerous to interact with the others.

And so one day, Loki simply decided to cut himself off completely and left for Scotland. No one knew why he had chosen this cold and hard land to spend the rest of his days in, not even Thor. Of course he knew that wherever he went or wherever he ended up in, Stark and the rest of the Avengers would have him watched at all times, but as the Trickster had nonchalantly said, at least he wouldn't have to see their pathetic faces each and every day.

“This is ridiculous Stark and you know it”, Wanda said in her natural heavy accent, “And frankly, you are all being stupid and overly dramatic. I have been inside his head, I have seen it, I have sensed it. Whoever he was back then... he is not any more. And what I see in this footage right now is him trying to be nice. For once”, she stressed and indicated towards the micro version of the hologram emerging from the middle of the table.

Thor gave her a half smile and a gracious nod of his head, thanking her silently for her kind words and effort to put some sense into the others' heads. Her input was an honest one as well. She had actually penetrated Loki's mind once, while he had been asleep. She had started to grow tired of him trying to push her away and so she had taken it upon herself to discover what the God of Mischief was so stubbornly hiding inside his own head that was so horrifying and haunting that would make him deny the little bit of unconditional support that was being offered to him. She had somewhat managed to break her way into the shell of his brain with her powers and had sensed the scarring pain that came from the discovery of his lineage, the undeniable loss of a mother and his overwhelming need to be respected, but before she had the chance to read more and find out a reason, perhaps a motivation, the protective spell he had cast upon himself had alerted him of the intrusion and he had woken up, angry and maybe, a little hurt.

“May I remind you that when you did that he grabbed you by the neck, almost chocking you to death, and threw you out of his room under the threat that should you try to get inside his head again, he would crash your pretty face beneath his boot?”, Natasha commented, no expression on her pale face.

“Of course he did”, Wanda said, chuckling a bit, “I was pissed and I just caught him off guard. He didn't mean it”.

Natasha shook her head in disbelief and Thor was sure that if Vision, who was sitting right next to her, had eyebrows, he would have furrowed them in intense confusion.

“Look, you need to take this seriously, kiddo. You are not concerned about your safety, that's fine. But I just need you to consider for a minute that you weren't in New York when he attacked, okay? I was and I saw first hand what he did. Guy threw me out of a window”, Tony said in a matter of fact voice.

“Did you die?”, Wanda asked.

“No”.

“See?”.

Tony rolled his eyes at her, “If only you'd been there-”.

“Are you seriously going to play that card again? Alright. You were there. I wasn't. Perhaps that's why I'm not biased”, she retorted, raising both eyebrows mockingly. Thor couldn't help himself, but give a little laugh at the girl's tenacity and ability to piss off Stark so efficiently.

“Unbelievable”, the dark haired man exclaimed then, “I'm sorry, is this funny to you, point break?”, and turned towards him with arms dramatically outstretched.

“Your brother, Darth Vader, has been in hibernation for what? Two years? Filling himself with booze and sticking it into every prostitute Scotland has to offer and all of a sudden he stops and starts walking the streets side by side with, apparently, Corpse Bride, his princess of darkness and doom with a freaking coffee cup in his hand and the smile of the devil on his face. Doesn't any of that strike you as a little scary? A little weird maybe?”.

“I understood the Darth Vader reference”, Steve muttered under his breath, making Wanda chuckle again. Tony glared at them both before turning his back and rubbing in on his eyelids in despair, while mumbling something about not believing the situation.

Thor took a deep breath, trying to maintain his patience and walked over to him, patting him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. He was aware of Tony Stark' s fear of an unknown threat, bigger and scarier than he and the others have ever been up against, but Loki's change of heart was not it and of that he was certain.

“Listen, my friend. I understand your worry and I share it more often than you can imagine. But you are seeing dangers and enemies where there aren't any. You and I have almost always been like minded, but I will have to admit that Wanda is correct on this one. Whether you, or any of you, wish to acknowledge it or not, there's good in my brother and I am sensing that some of it has been brought to surface by that woman in the footage”, he said, pointing his finger towards the tall, dark and mysterious female walking side by side with Loki on the street, “Whoever she is, I believe she has given him some peace. Peace he needed desperately after all those years of chaos and destruction. I suggest we leave it at that”.

“That's a lovely thought Thor, but did you think for a second that she might be under some kind of spell? Some kind of mind control? He may not have the mind stone or his stuff any more but we all know he is more than capable to manipulate and control in many ways”.

“Clint' s got a point”, Tony agreed, finding again the perfect solid base, the excuse, to depict Loki as the evil villain he had always made him out to be, “Your brother is unpredictable and maybe even more powerful than we think. What if he brainwashed the girl? What if he's coercing her? Forcing her into this mock show? What if he promised her the stars and she stupidly said yes?”.

“Stark, that's enou-”, Thor began to say, but the little witch cut him off.

“Oh, yeah call him a rapist now”, Wanda exclaimed, making everyone in the room turn their eyes towards her, “This is madness Stark. Can you not see that he is just trying to blend in? Look at that woman! Just look at her. Does anything in her body language betray coercion? No. Nothing. She is just a beautiful, young woman who has managed to catch his attention and perhaps she is his ticket in finally getting closer to us mere mortals. Stop being so suspicious. They're having fun”.

“Last time he wanted to get close to humans, Stuttgart and New York happened. He killed eighty people in two days. That cannot be easily forgotten”, Natasha reminded, after getting up to join Steve, who was leaning against the window.

“How many times must I repeat myself? He's adopted”, Thor muttered, the deep timbre of his voice betraying annoyance. He was almost mentally exhausted with everyone repeating that argument over and over.

Tony rolled his eyes yet again, “Rogers, what's your take on this? You're awfully blond and quiet this evening”.

Steve had indeed been silent throughout most of the noisy conversation, which seemed to be turning into a verbal brawl sooner than expected, and there was a damn good reason for that.

He crossed his arms and walked towards the table, where Wanda, Clint and Vision were sitting, but he didn't take a seat beside them. He took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling in an attempt to calm himself and give Stark the bad news, as neutrally as possible.

“Tony, look. If there's one thing the war and losing Bucky taught me is that men can change-”.

“Not you too”.

“Just hear me out, okay?”, Steve pleaded, “Now, I'm not saying that all is forgiven nor am I saying that I would welcome Loki back with open arms, but Thor's right. He does look... happy, and when he was at the Compound with us, he was anything but. So, if that girl... has managed somehow to ground him, then I don't see any reason why we should discuss this any longer”.

Tony threw his arms up in mock defeat and turned his back on the soldier , while Natasha paced towards Steve and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you serious right now? That girl could be in danger”.

“Why?”, was all Steve responded.

“Because he is a dangerous man”.

“You were a dangerous woman Romanoff, but you turned a new leaf. Why not let him prove that he can do the same?”.

“Because he is insane”.

“Watch it”, Thor hissed, but the woman only gave him a cold stare and turned her back to him.

“May I speak?”, Vision asked then, always polite and considerate.

Wanda turned her head to the side and smiled warmly at him, giving his arm an encouraging squeeze, “Of course Vis”.

Before he began he returned her warm smile, thankful for her kindness and eagerness to include him in the conversation, “I must agree with Captain Rogers. We should not let our guard down, by any means, but at least we can give a chance-”.

“Tell me Vision, is that stone in your head playing tricks on you today? Or is this the bit of Ultron inside you that's speaking?”, Tony threw harshly.

“Hey!”, Wanda snapped, her grip now tighter on Vision's arm.

“Oh yeah, sure. It's a brilliant idea! Let's give the villain in retirement both the chance and the time to concoct and perfect his master plans to kill us all, and maybe even that woman of his in the end. Oh, did I mention she is a stripper? And a lap dancer? Or was?”, he tsked disapprovingly, “Bad bad influence”.

Clint whistled, but Steve was quick to add, “And how exactly is that relevant? What she does or did to earn a living is none of our business. Not all of us are born with a silver spoon in our mouths Stark. She might have gone through a tough time. We have no right to judge her. And besides, what do you mean by ''bad influence''? Loki doesn't seem like the type to mistreat a woman just because she strips on a pole, rather the opposite I'd say. And she, as far as I can tell, doesn't look like the type of woman to let herself be mistreated”.

“Ooh, easy there, tiger, with your righteous speeches about women's rights and all. Just saying that humans aren't exactly his favourite race and I don't know if you still live in the 40's, but in 2018, men take advantage of women, whatever their occupation”, Clint explained in his usual aloof manner, “Wouldn't surprise me if he hurt her”.

“We've received no incidents of that context from Scotland Clint and you know it. He doesn't like us, yes, but he shows some respect. He has a housekeeper, does he not? Has he hurt her before in any way?”, Steve retorted, not quite seeing where this was going.

“Hm, no guys, things are way worse than that, because I bet he doesn't do _that_ with his housekeeper, as we speak”, Tony stated and pressed a button on his watch. The hologram simulation was summoned away and a different one took its place, morphing itself pixel by pixel until it was complete.

Everyone in the room fell silent for a bit, expecting curiously to see what Tony was talking about and once the image began to move, the reactions were various. Wanda smirked triumphantly and then looked down to her hands on the table, confirming both to herself and hopefully to the others that her claims about Loki were indeed true. Vision, right next to her, averted his eyes respectfully, the moment his mind successfully processed what was the content of the video. Natasha and Tony were staring at the hologram with no expression on their faces, no emotions contorting their features, all cold and professional, as always. Clint whispered something about Jesus and having a wife, but no one really paid him any mind. Steve blushed instantly and half smiled at the image, before looking down at his feet to avoid everyone else seeing the bright red on his cheeks.

“I'll be damned”, he muttered under his breath.

The footage was being taken from an angle just outside of the humongous windows of the God of Mischief's penthouse, so it was probably one of Stark' s tiny flying cameras that was doing the illegal recording. It was early in the morning in Scotland and so there wasn't yet any natural light from the gloomy sun, only a faint grey glow that made everything around look ghostly and hauntingly beautiful at the same time. There was only one light on in the grandiose bedroom space that was barely enough to give shape to the two bodies on the king sized bed. Loki was sitting on it, naked from the waist up and only a sheet covered him from the waist down. The woman they'd seen on the street was straddling his lap, her long legs positioned steadily on either side of him. She was dressed in a little cream white dress and looked like a giant guardian angel sent to Earth to steal the devil's soul and bring it to heaven, if one believed in such things. She had her hands on either side of his neck, fingers tangled in his raven mane, while he was affectionately massaging from the backs of her thighs up to her waist, underneath her garment, and down again in a slow steady rhythm. Their foreheads were resting against one another and their eyes were closed, as if they were praying to each other. As if they communicated through senses, instead of words. There was magic between them, but not the kind Loki specialised in. There was magic the God of Thunder had never seen his brother show to anyone before. There was love.

Thor balled up his fists and clenched them hard, the peaceful image in front of him coming into great contrast with the anger that boiled within his breast. He slowly turned around to Stark and shot him a death glare and when he spoke, his voice was calm, but somehow nurtured an intensity, barely withheld from spilling out in the form of a roar.

“How dare you spy on my brother and his woman in their private moments? In their bed, where they share something so strong and sacred? Have you no shame?”, he inquired threateningly, not really wanting to hear an answer to his question, but since it was Stark that stood in front of him, an answer he was going to get.

“Jesus, point break, relax-”.

“Do not tell me to relax”, Thor hissed, grabbing Tony by the collar of his shirt and pulling him roughly towards him, until they stood face to face, staring into each others' eyes, their noses almost touching. The others took a step forward but refrained from breaking them apart.

“Oh my God, Thor, you're missing the point here”, the shorter man said, a little bit panicked by the other man's sudden outburst, “Just look at them. Look at them. She looks _exactly_ like him. You saw her on that street. She dresses _exactly_ like him. She's intimidating the people around her, _exactly_... like... him. It's almost like he's grooming her for something”.

“Stark that's just bonkers”, Wanda commented, before Thor started hissing again.

“What are you talking about, you fool? Are you blind to others' happiness? That man right there, is not my brother. At least he's not the brother that I used to know. He's changed. I saw it when he called for me a couple of weeks ago. Do you even know what is like for a dark God to behave this calmly around someone? He has found a light. That woman is a gift. Why would you sully that? Twist it into something that it's not?”, he spat the last word out and then let go of the shorter man so abruptly that he stumbled backwards and lost his balance for a second.

“Since when did you become so romantic, Mister King of Asgard?”, Tony mocked.

“That's enough, please”, Steve said, but his plea went unnoticed.

“That girl right there might as well be an innocent brainwashed human who has no idea what a twisted little shit your brother is, and-”.

Thor had already started advancing towards Stark, this time with the intent to throw at least a few punches, but just then, a large dagger cut through the air, passing exactly between their faces, and pierced through the window glass, ending up somewhere outside. That made both men stop whatever they were going to say or do and turn their heads slowly towards the direction the knife had come from.

Valkyrie was sitting at the far end of the table with her feet up and a bottle of beer in her hand. She was scowling at the both of them with her chin tipped up and absolutely no interest in being where she was at the moment. Usually she never participated in these meetings and settled for keeping quiet throughout them, nodding only when her opinion was required. She wasn't one for talking too much or fussing over issues that took too long to be solved.

“Dickheads”, she muttered under her breath, but it was loud enough for both men to hear it.

Stark jerked his head upright and released an indignant huff, “What did you just say?”.

“I called you dickheads”, she repeated unashamedly, catching with the corner of her eye how Thor's fists relaxed and how his face softened, “Forgive me, your majesty, for insulting your dick and your head, but I had an idea and thought of sharing it with the bunch of you”. She took a large gulp of beer and got up to walk towards them until she stood by Thor's side.

Tony followed her with his eyes and said after she situated herself, “You're forgiven”.

Valkyrie chocked back a laugh, before nudging her head towards Thor, “I meant him. You're no majesty. You're just a dickhead”. And took another swing of the bitter liquid. Stark just stared at her in disbelief and mild offence.

Thor smirked, “What's your idea, baby?”.

“Simple. Isn't dickhead throwing a Christmas party soon?”, she inquired, but already knew the answer. She was bored with the lot of them and slightly drunk.

“Yes, he is”, Tony acknowledged, somewhat annoyed and crossed his arms over his chest, “So what?”.

“So... invite Loki and his new girl and observe them up close in order to reach a decision. You are all speculating right now. Making assumptions. It's obvious. Spying on them serves no purpose. Get them here and find out once and for all. Stop bickering around each other like little children, it's annoying me”, she suggested boldly.

Steve took a step forward and pushed his hands into his pockets. He pressed his lips together and nodded a couple of times, “That's not such a bad idea actually”.

Tony sighed and scratched his head, “No. No, it's not. Gotta give it to her. Here we'll have all eyes on them”.

The others nodded in agreement as well, either because they truly believed that this could work or because they were too tired to continue the quarrel.

Tony clapped his hands and decided, “Okay, point break, two things. First, go to your little dark lord and tell him the good news about his case to sweeten him a bit. Secondly, invite him to the party on my behalf. I'd do it myself but chances are he's gonna throw me out of a window again. With you, he might actually listen. In the meantime, I'll have Friday look that girl up, so we know who we're dealing with, alright?”. He checked around for responses and noted that everyone was nodding positively.

Thor was a little reluctant to agree with that course of action, because if he did he would be practically luring Loki into a sneaky observation trap. Into a little interrogation net that would be thrown both at him and perhaps, his woman as well. The idea didn't bode well with him, but at this moment he could think of nothing better to suggest. Val's plan would have to do.

“Alright”, he said, “I'll go to him soon”.

After that, he and Val left the others and headed for their private quarters to let off some steam. Since the previous intense conversation had left the God irritated and her, horny, it didn't take them long to reach their bedroom and almost break in through the wooden door in order to get inside. When they did, he picked her up by the waist and sat her on the vanity across from their enormous bed, before he started fumbling with her shirt and she with his zipper. They moved urgently, yearning to get inside each other as fast as possible and relieve themselves from thoughts and worries. Their kisses were sloppy and their breaths already laboured, yet they still had some oxygen in their lungs to use.

“You saved my ass back there, do you know that?”, Thor whispered against her jaw as he detached his pelvis from between her thighs to give her space to lower his pants down.

“Well, it's a nice ass and I was really keen on grabbing it”, she joked, but did just that. She slipped her hands down and grabbed his cheeks vigorously, making him burst out laughing, “Besides, you left me all worked up back there, in the common room, to go deal with the dark princeling's dick, while you should be driving yours elsewhere. Now, you gotta pay up”.

She wrapped her legs around him, bringing him closer to her warm and ready body once more this day, while Thor splayed his hands on her back to lift her up and get her to the bed. But in his urgency to do so, he forgot that his pants had pooled around his ankles and so when he turned around he slipped and fell on top of Val on the bed, nearly taking the air out of her lungs due to the impact of his fall, and breaking the base of the bed in the process.

Valkyrie threw her head back on the pillows and laughed it off so hard that tears were squeezed out from the corners of her eyes. She covered them with her forearm, in an almost sleepy manner, before saying, “I see your anger has subsided, King Thor. Why don't you get in there and make a girl happy before we smash any more furniture?”. To emphasize her point, she squeezed her thighs on either side of his hips and raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Thor smiled widely at that, half embarrassed from the hilarious fall he'd taken, but certainly aroused with seeing her so eager. He winked and dived in, “I'm on it”.

Their love making was quick and oddly satisfying. The tension, the irritation from before washed out of their bodies along with their sweat and other fluids and by the time they were done, the sheets had absorbed most of it and they lay limp and drowsy, but sufficiently cooled down. They cried out and convulsed in each others' arms, before they had even realised they were approaching their endings and now, sated and spent, dozing off at times and waking up randomly, time seemed to slow down around them. Thor was stretched out in the middle of the bed, while Val had rolled onto her side, lazily stroking the hard muscles of his chest.

He sighed heavily, making her think that despite their fulfilling coupling moments ago, his mind was still occupied with thoughts of the little dark lord and his mysterious woman from the surveillance footage. The idea she had thrown on the table and which all had agreed to, hadn't been one of her brightest ones. It was kind of a last minute epiphany, provoked by watching Thor lose his temper with Stark and his trivialities.

In her opinion, it was indeed peculiar that Loki would break his usual pattern, a pattern which the Avengers felt comfortable with, because it involved him being too busy being passed out from the booze or too deep inside a girl's cunt to bother with planning another world domination scheme. They secretly hoped the man was fucking his way to sleep fast enough so that he could be too exhausted to devise chaos and destruction.

Two years back, when the first footage had come in of him entering brothel after brothel and then returning to his luxurious penthouse with a bottle in his hands, she hadn't been surprised, because she identified with that kind of behaviour. She was by far not a compassionate woman, but she had been able to recognise the feelings of numbness, isolation and loss, feelings that had festered inside and eaten her alive too after Hela had slaughtered her fellow shield maidens, all those centuries ago. And when she had ceased seeing Asgard as a home and had found herself on Sakaar, the activities Loki had been indulging in, had been exactly what she'd done herself. All in the service of forgetting. Seizing every opportunity to waste away, until you're forgotten by everyone and eventually scratched out from the pages of history.

When Loki had woken up one day, wearing the black long coat with the collar turned up, all dark and mysterious and deeply, utterly lost and wounded, for reasons no one could really understand, and had announced his permanent departure no one had protested, apart from that young witch, Wanda and Thor himself. The others had already known that wherever he went, Stark would have him watched and monitored closely and so hadn't even bothered to say goodbye. She, though, had simply nodded, immediately understanding his reasons to get lost and be quick about it too. He had had the same look on his face as she did, a long time ago. No need for further words exchanged between them when he was wearing that void scowl. He had nodded back at her and then disappeared in his weird green flashes, never to be remembered or return.

Today, when Stark had shown them the footage taken outside the window, Val could tell for a certainty that that man on the bed wasn't the one that had nodded courtly at her and had left two years ago without another word. There was something different about him, something that hadn't been there before. Thor had attempted to describe it to her the day after he had returned from Edinburgh with the case Loki had given him, but she had scoffed at his words disbelievingly. She guessed now that she had to see it with her own eyes in order to acknowledge it as truth. And what was more, there was something Thor didn't know, but _she_ did, something that made these new revelations all the more believable. Something that solidly proved, there was warmth in the little usurper's blood.

Back in Sakaar, she and the Trickster God had engaged in what humans commonly called, ''a quickie''. And according to her experience, when you have a man inside you, you learn things about him. Things that perhaps he would never let you on willingly. And what she had learned that day, while the God was folding her over the table in her small apartment, hammering her brutally with his hips and giving her not the tiniest bit of time to breathe, was that he was broken and that he had, consequently, no care about what he broke and ruined in his path. Because apparently, ruin and destruction, had become his obsession over the course of the years. Activities that he could indulge in, in a desperate attempt to anchor himself. To create familiar circumstances to match his own, because this was no place for him and the people living in it, were not like him.

For her own twisted reasons and simple carnal need for pleasure, she had allowed him to do just that and when it was over, all was forgotten. She had turned around, thanked him for his services and then banged a bottle against his head. He'd dropped unconscious, she'd chained him, called his brother and so on and so forth, the story continues. But that video today had made her reconsider things.

That annoying little shit was actually holding someone in his hands, a human to be exact, like his life depended on it. As if letting her go would sent him rolling back down into the dark, mind numbing path he had chosen to walk upon two years ago. He had been touching this girl tenderly and with consideration, like he wished to confirm she was real or that _he_ hadn't faded away somehow. Hie eyes were closed in surrender, something which Loki Laufeyson had never done in the presence of anyone, as far as she knew. Always too cautious. Always one step ahead. Always with his guard up ready to throw something extremely salty to shut you up and then rub it in your face for the rest of your life. But not to that girl. She had his silence, his undivided attention, his willing subservience and his never ending touch. And that was when Valkyrie confirmed the truth of Thor's words. The almighty lord of darkness and misrule _had_ changed, and as it seemed to her, he only cared about one person in this whole planet. And that person was the woman on his lap, whoever she was, wherever she had sprang from.

Dickhead' s suspicions were idiotic and maniacal. His assumptions biased and baseless. Thor had been more than right to give into his internal anger and let it out, but if she hadn't intervened in that specific moment, things would have gotten out of hand. Her man wouldn't have been able to control himself and Stark would do nothing but provoke him, just to feed his sense of superiority and ego. She rolled her eyes at that thought, because bringing that short, tiny and petty human in her mind always brought her a headache. In the end though, she had managed to restore order in the meeting room and help everyone settle on a solution that wasn't perfect by any means, but at least it was good enough for now. It was a solution that could possibly put at ease all sides, given that Loki wouldn't discover the true reasons behind the invitation to the party, which was highly unlikely, now that she turned it over in her head again, because the little shit was incredibly smart for his own good.

“Val, why do they not believe me?”, Thor asked then, interrupting her train of thought.

“What?”, she said, distracted.

“Why do they not believe me when I tell them that he has changed?”, Thor repeated, allowing a heavy sigh to escape his lips.

“This isn't the first time I've tried to make them realise it. Since we've stepped foot on Earth all they've done is call him names, doubt him, ignore him and eventually make him leave. Now, I know he's done some unforgivable things in the past, things that balance horribly between innocent trickery and insanity, but... I don't know... Father forgave me and welcomed me back into his arms, when I behaved with arrogance and childishness. I just wish Loki would let me do the same with him”.

“Well, you are not your father and Loki is not like you. Defending him is good, Thor. It's the right thing to do. I would have done the same thing for each and every one of my sisters, if one of them chose to walk upon a dark path. Keep it up”, Val said, suddenly feeling a little guilty for not paying more attention to the things Thor told her sometimes. Her own experience in life had taught her not to take things seriously, but certain stuff mattered to him and she inwardly scolded herself for not seeing it.

“I will. Every chance I get, although I'm not certain he would do the same if the situations were reversed”, he continued, “Still though, I was surprised today with how many stood up for him, even indirectly”.

“Perhaps they have started to see reason, to come around, big guy. I mean, have you met your brother? It takes time getting used to him, much less like him”, she commented, tapping Thor's chest.

He chuckled, “I suppose you're right”, and then turned his head to the side to flash her a wide full teeth smile, “Thank you for today. I know you don't wish to take part in the meetings. I'm thankful”.

“Just forget it”, she dismissed, lazily slapping the smile off his jaw, “I was simply getting bored. It was taking longer than usual for all of you to put your dicks back into your pants and it picked on my nerves”.

“Still though. It was a good idea, baby. I do not entirely agree with it, because I feel as if I'm going to give my consent to having him irritated. No. Interrogated is a better word. I feel like I'm setting him up. And his woman”, he confided and rubbed his face with his palm, “And all for the sake of Tony's delusion”.

Valkyrie pushed herself up on her elbow to look him in the eyes, “You're gonna have to suck it up, big guy. Getting him here is the only way to shut their mouths once and for all. You say he has changed. I believe you. The others don't, apart from the witch. So, we bring him here and let him prove himself. It's simple. We just have to make sure that when he comes with the girl, the others wont start stuffing him with questions and false assumptions”.

“Yes, good luck trying to convince Stark to keep his sarcastic mouth zipped”, he joked, but Val punched him in the ribs.

“We'll manage. Have a little faith”.

“I hope so”, Thor replied and turned fully on his side to kiss her plush lips tenderly, before starting to rake his hands all over her body, in an attempt to initiate round two, “But before we do that...”.

 


	22. equilibrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the anger takes over due to peoples' misunderstanding, when you lose control over yourself because somebody else put a tag on you, how do you react? Loki and Andrea surely didn't expect that blow, although in the end, they come out winning. What led up to that win though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everybody! I'm so excited! As I mentioned in the notes of the previous chapter, this one, chapter 22 is coming up a little sooner. It's Wednesday, 02:30 in the morning here in Greece. This happens because of my trip to Scotland. I wont be here on Thursday to get the chapter up. So I'm doing it now. Hope you don't mind getting the good stuff a little sooner! Wink wink... It's a gigantic chapter too. 
> 
> A little reminder about Andrea's anger management condition. I'll be honest with you. Half of what's described as Andrea's episode and control restoration thereafter comes from research. Another half comes from personal experience, because I have a mild version of the issue and the last half is coming from my own imaginative way of how an episode like that can be dealt with. It's not an entirely accurate way, I'll give you that. When that bulb in my head turns red and all I see is black, things don't go as poetically as Andrea's experience here. But in this chapter there's a lot of recognition and drama and a whole lotta love and I wish... I wish those episodes, those fits of anger could be dealt with like that. It's heart breaking as much as it is heart mending. 
> 
> **As always, pictures and gifs are burrowed from the web and therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. May I just say that the gif is fucking misleading, eheheheh. People, there'll be no doggy style for now. This is supposed to... depict Andrea's thrashing and struggling and Loki's trying to stop her and relax her. This is not sex... as much as I'd want it to be. But soon... soon. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and the support! We hit 5000 hits, did you know that? Wow, still can't entirely believe it! Much love and appreciation, have a lovely day and a lovely weekend.

[ origin: Latin// 1) **Equilibrium** is a balance between several different influences or aspects of a situation 2) Someone's **equilibrium** is their normal calm state of mind ].

 

 

 

 

“Hi, yeah, how are you? Nice to see you again”, Andrea lied through her teeth, rather unconvincingly, as she took a seat across from her international advisor's office. She set her backpack next to her leg on the floor and smiled as politely as she could.

“Good, good. Nice to see you too. I'm glad you've recovered. Must have been difficult while studying”, the woman across said and took a pencil and a sheet of paper out of the drawer.

“Thank you. I did the best I could”, Andrea said, picking at the edges of her sleeves. Just as she remembered. These meetings still unnerved her. Heavy atmosphere. Intense smell of paper. Next to no light coming from that miniscule window behind Johnson. Still air, like before a massive rainstorm.

“So, to begin with, I don't believe it is of any use to go over your progress on the course since it is, as always, astounding, even with what's happened to you. That shows discipline. Well done, Andrea. Your teachers and me, of course, are very pleased”, she informed, tapping her pencil on the surface of the desk.

Andrea read nervousness in that little act, but paid it no mind, even though a sick feeling in her gut told her that something was off. Perhaps she was just tired from her classes or she was too anxious to return home and snuggle in bed with Loki for the rest of the afternoon. This was the last day in University, before the holidays officially began, and she planned to do absolutely nothing, but stay in bed and listen to his heartbeat as he played with her hair, just as she liked. Maybe she could coax him into reading to her again, or maybe she would go ahead and dance for him even though it wasn't Sunday. Who knew. There was so much they could do, so many exciting possibilities to be unveiled...

She nodded politely to Miss Johnson and smiled appreciatively to thank her for her encouragement and good review. Could this be all for the day? The young woman sure hoped so.

“However there is another issue I would like to discuss with you. A matter... of a more social background”. _Of course it was too good to be true_ , Andrea thought bitterly as she watched her advisor tilt her head, waiting for permission, which she already knew she couldn't be denied.

“Alright”, she nodded, understanding that since there was something to talk about including the word ''social'' it had to be the fact that she hadn't managed to make friends so far. Besides, they had already stressed it as an issue at their previous meeting, so it was only natural that the woman would bring it up again, since no development had been reported.

The woman across took a deep breath and leaned forward to plant her elbows on the table, breaking the news to Andrea in a calm, diplomatic tone, “There's been... talk around the University about you, darling, and a certain... resident in the city and it has raised many eyebrows, if I must be honest. Some students... claimed to have seen you around the campus grounds with... with the former terrorist, Loki Laufeyson. Is that true?”.

Andrea's face hardened in a flash, eyebrows gradually forming a deep frustrated bow and luscious lips becoming a thin, irritated line. Her jaw tightened the minute the word ''terrorist'' was out of Johnson's mouth, but she knew that she couldn't allow herself to become madder than that, especially not in her presence. She had to play her cards right, otherwise she could end up in a lot of trouble and that was the last thing she wanted. Not now that everything in her life was going so great for the first time in a while. She wouldn't give the right to twisted fate to mess up the little good, the little light she had found through all the darkness. The comfort Loki had given her. It would be a crime, a sheer crime to spoil that.

She swallowed thickly and tried to keep her tone as emotionally restrained as possible, “What business is it of the University's who I'm spending my time with?”.

“It _is_ the University's business when a student's life is at stake”.

“Whose life is at stake, I'm... I'm sorry, I don't follow”, Andrea feigned ignorance, tilting her head to the side to emphasize the ridiculousness of the situation.

“I'm sure you can understand that-”.

“No, sorry, I don't. Would you mind explaining it to me?”, but, oh, she knew exactly where this was going. She knew from the moment she had stepped foot inside this office. She just hadn't realised it, but all the signs had been there.

“We, and I mean, the staff and a few of our students, are of the opinion that... you should probably not spend... your time with that man. I'm not trying to be biased here, but surely you are aware of the things he's done in the past. Of the mayhem and trouble he caused and of the misrule he brought to so many peoples' lives. I am in no way saying that he has the same motivations now, but I would suggest that-”.

“That I stay away from him”, Andrea suddenly interrupted. The advisor was using too many words to express one very simple thing, called ''suggestion'', and it was irritating the hell out of her. She had never liked their talks, because she felt them to be more like interrogations, but she hadn't considered so far that one day, that could actually be the case, “Isn't that what you're saying?”.

The woman across the desk sighed and closed her eyes, “Andrea, he is dangerous”.

“So I've been told”, she scoffed indignantly in response and straightened her back. It was a defence mechanism. One of the many she'd been practising in front of the mirror, before and after coming here. When she had to put herself one step ahead of everyone, she summoned some of them. The sarcasm was to make her a difficult person to talk to and the stiff posture was meant to intimidate and make her appear even taller than she already was. If the other person was considerably shorter, even better. The scowl warned you off and the raised eyebrow dared you to open your mouth again.

“I don't think you realise the degree of-”.

“No, no I do. I don't need an explanation this time, thank you. But I will have to remind you that what I do and who I'm doing it with, is none of your concern. I am a consenting adult and if I ever feel in any kind of danger I will act accordingly”, she explained, trying not to show much emotion or personal attachment to the subject. She was surprised with having made it this far without giving in to the baser instincts, lurking under the mask of coldness. Her unexpected calm gave her the confidence that she could potentially keep this up for just a bit longer.

“Consenting?”, the advisor questioned, “Andrea, why would you consent- what- are you... are you conducting a sexual relationship with that man?”. The look on her face was a mixture of pure confusion and disgust.

Andrea bit her tongue, before speaking, one eyebrow going up suggestively, “With all due respect, that is none of your business and frankly, I thought your job was to help me on the course, not interrogate me on my personal life”.

Miss Johnson shook her head, “No, no that's not it at all. I'm not interrogating you, please. It's not it”.

“Then what is this about? Why would you make an issue out of the only person in this city that I actually like hanging out with?”, the young woman inquired, intentionally omitting the facts of living together and being intimate in a whole other level with said person. It was a smart choice to leave those details out, since who knew what the advisor would make up in her mind if she somehow found out.

“I'm only saying that... if you have any problems at all, there are ways out. I'm sure that your pneumonia medication must have costed a fortune and maybe... maybe your rent has been raised and the books we require of you for the classes are unreasonably expensive, but-”.

“What are you talking about?”, Andrea's voice was steel when she interrupted yet again, but in contrast, her mind felt unsteady and as if it had gone through a liquefying process and could no longer construct rational thoughts. She attempted to work out on her own what the woman was saying, but the words escaped her. They dripped out of her ears, as if they couldn't bear to remain within the walls of her brain. They were disturbing, although she knew they shouldn't be, and offensive although she had no reason to be offended. But for some inexplicable reason, she was.

“Are you-”, she began, but it was Miss Johnson's turn to cut her off.

“Look darling, I understand that he has some sort of charm. An air of superiority that you might find attractive and of course, financial flexibility. If you're with him for that... please, we can talk about this together and we can figure it out. You don't have to depend on _that_ man for anything or give him anything in return. I mean, what if he decides to take something on his own, believing that you owe him and... God, Andrea, what if he hurts you and abus-”.

“How dare you”, Andrea hissed, her eyes already blurry with tears. She didn't have to listen to any of this nonsense any more. She wouldn't, for the life of her. And so she got up without another word, picked her backpack from the floor and headed out the door, while the international advisor shouted after her.

“Wait, Andrea, please. I didn't mean to insult you”, but it was too late. She slammed the door and was already getting down the stairs with such intensity on her face that a glance towards her could make people lose their step as they passed her by.

“Charm and money, that's what Andrea's good for. Why else would I choose him?”, she muttered absent-mindedly, trying to keep her voice as low as possible and failing miserably, “Terrorist, really? Good old trick. Fuck...”. The tremor in her voice made her want to cry, but she kept it reigned in. She kept everything in.

Time with Loki had made her understand one very valuable thing, if nothing else at all and that was the reason why he got so upset when people went ahead and assumed things, regardless the reason. No one was ever concerned with what truly was the case. They all took events for granted or stuck to their own theories, cultivating them inside their heads, until they became believable. Like a virus. It can drive a person mad how easily the human brain falls into a wormhole of scenarios and climbs out with an army of them in its hold. And if she hadn't been as mad as Loki was about it, she was damn furious now, as she continued walking down the stairs and through the ancient halls of the University, in order to get out and escape the suffocation and craziness of the whole situation. _He's different, he's done people wrong, he's holding my hand in public, so he must be abusing me, right?_ , she thought with derision, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. Tears tickled down her cheeks and she angrily used her sleeve to wipe them away.

It had been one thing to try and coax her into extracurricular activities, because she thought her incapable of finding friends, but what that advisor had said today was down right intrusive and truly close to unforgivable. Who had given her the right to bring up the subject of an individual's personal life and make ugly comments about it? Was she doing it to her other international students or just to Andrea, because she walked the streets hand in hand with the ''terrorist''?

On one hand, it was understandable that people would have questions and doubts about them both, since they were kind of an unusual pair, simply because they looked so much alike. Same style, same height, same air, even same choice of clothing. But on the other hand, going so far so as to suggest that their closeness was a problem, an issue that had to be dealt with, because ''the staff and some of our students are of the opinion that'' and other bullshit, was unacceptable. That woman had crossed the line today and even though Andrea deep down knew that she was simply concerned and was being overprotective, she couldn't bring herself to justify this kind of behaviour towards both her person and Loki, a man about whom the advisor knew little and even that little was from a questionable source.

The girl's temples began to itch and she could distinctly feel the blood pumping underneath her skin. Her veins felt like they would pop out of her neck and arms, but she continued pacing fast towards the enormous glass door, set on making it out of the building without screaming and alarming the other students. But these thoughts infuriated her and made her temperature rise quicker than was comfortable. And the worst thing of all was that she didn't know why she was so angry. She was consumed by a mess of emotions, but had no idea why she was so affected.

Was it the assumptions themselves that made her feel like that? Was it the calm and diplomatic and audacious tone the advisor had phrased them in or was it the way she herself had handled the situation? Getting up and bolting out of the office in the middle of the meeting hadn't been one of her wisest decisions, but at that moment it had been the only thing she could do. Escape. Had she stayed in the presence of that woman for just a little bit longer, she would have either burst into tears right there, in front of the desk, or she would have had an episode, resulting to a chair or her backpack hitting the woman across, square between the eyes. Andrea could afford neither.

Loki was leaning against the brick wall, under the street lamp, across from the building the little dancer's classes were being held, when he saw her push the glass door and stride outside like she was on a war path. She put one foot in front of the other in such an abrupt manner that one could think she was about to attack whoever stopped her. Her eyes swam with tears that slid down her pale face in thick streaks and she didn't really look like she was able to spot his location, so he took the last steps and closed the distance between them, anxious and highly alerted by her sense of disorientation. He took her hands in his, squeezing them just enough to notify her of his presence. When she turned her head to look at him there was no recognition for a split second, a fact that scared him down to his bones. It was like a deadly hand grabbing at his heart, instantly suffocating it.

“Little one, it's me, it's just me”, he informed calmly, hoping that perhaps his voice would help her identify him. It did.

She breathed deeply, shakily and with difficulty, gripping at his hands tighter and tighter, until her knuckles went white.

“Darling, what's wrong? Andrea... look at me. Look at me. Hey...”, he tried to take her head in his hands, not knowing what else to say to get her attention.

But she only shook away from him and rumbled something in her native tongue. The only other time she had spoken Greek, in his presence that was, was only the day she had woken up in his apartment, with no clue as to where she was, thinking herself to be back at the alley, under threat, reduced down to nothing but a stressed, tensed up soul, believing she'd been raped and abandoned. Thankfully, he spoke the language too. _Bless my tutors for insisting_ , he thought, but it was a thought entertained without amusement.

“What burns, little one? Look at me, please. Tell me”, he inquired, resting his palms on either side of her face, steadying her head and forcing her to look at him.

But she shut her eyes and mumbled, breathless and incapable of fixing her gaze on him, “Take me... take me home, please, please, please, just take me... I'm gonna... break...”, a hiccup interrupted her, “...agh, no one can see me, please”.

Loki's lips parted in sudden understanding.

Without another word, he grabbed her hand and dragged her after him across the street and behind the brick building, so that nobody could see them as he enveloped both of their bodies in flashes of green and gold.

Once they were safely transported back to the safety of their penthouse, he turned towards her to try and talk her through the procedure he had at the ready, reserved for potential moments like these, but before he had the chance to utter the first word, she yanked her hand away and left him standing in the living room, speechless, but not surprised. Wishing for distance and personal space, when caught in your most violent and abrupt emotional states, was natural and to be expected. So he decided to give it to her for the moment, mainly to observe what she would do and how she would handle it, because he was certain that she was strong enough to summon her calm on her own, even though she was very aware that she could have his full help and support. She was so used to doing it on her own though, that perhaps his presence was suddenly intrusive, even unwanted. _Old habits are difficult to break_...

He observed cautiously as she made her way to her desk , slinging her backpack of her shoulder and throwing it on the chair with such force that it nearly fell over. She undressed next, taking off her coat, shoes, thick sweater and both under shirts and dropping them all to the floor unceremoniously. The heat her body produced was almost tangible and so he knew that letting her stay in her bra and jeans was the wisest choice, even if the tantalizing exposure of skin was distracting. She breathed heavily, her shoulders rising and falling slowly, yet menacingly, as if she was trying to contain a devious beast, forcing it to go back to sleep, before it sliced its way through her stomach and belly. Adrenaline. Restlessness. He knew how that was like. Your own blood suddenly feels like lava as it courses through your veins, scorching your insides and leaving only dead land behind, burnt, numb and useless, until you are finally consumed by the one emotion that scares you the most. The rage. It blocks your rational thought. It puts your heart behind bars. It secludes your mind and detaches it from the rest of your body. You become a simple, easily dispensable vessel to your enemy for maybe even just a minute. A mere minute, but it does differ from person to person, as do the triggers.

He took off his coat as well and dropped it on the couch, before making his first tentative steps towards her. Her body language was abrupt, but the aura she emanated balanced confusingly between sheer predictability and absolute unpredictability. He felt like the unsuspecting traveller who encounters a lion in the middle of the jungle, or like a snake tamer who's up against the most fatal of cobras. She was threateningly quiet, but that's the case before a reptile pounces on you and strangles you to death. He tried to get closer but then his next step was drowned by the sound of her phone ringing and so he stopped dead in his tracks, watching out for her reaction, ultimate sternness and concentration hardening his face.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, where her coat was lying, with steely eyes and unmoving lips. The phone rang four times, before she decided to bend down and retrieve it from the pocket. She took it and went to sit at the foot of the bed. And when she looked at the screen, her face revealed such intensity that Loki was certain that she would break the screen with her stare. Her chest was heaving even faster now, the anger starting to boil in hotter fires. He had a feeling that whatever was about to happen would activate the breaking point.

“Maybe you shouldn't-”, he tried to suggest, but it was too late.

“What?”, she spat abruptly, as she brought the earpiece close to her ear. Immediately, he concentrated on listening to the conversation from the other side of the phone in hopes of getting some information on what or who had triggered her like this. He had to know who got her so upset. His woman. His little dancer. Maybe he would strangle them to death, maybe he wouldn't. Nobody would find out...

“Andrea please, calm down. I-”, the voice said. A woman it was, but Andrea's shriek did not let her finish whatever she was about to say.

“Do not fucking tell me to calm down! I have... zero patience for your insults right now, so with all due respect, keep them to yourself and leave us alone!”. _Us,_ Loki repeated questioningly _. How is this about us?_

“Darling, please let me explain. I didn't mean to offend you. It simply struck me and the whole campus, to be honest, as odd that you were being so friendly with that man, when it's kind of clear that you have trouble with getting close to your own peers . I thought it must be... some kind of a deal. It made sense”.

Andrea gasped indignantly, “Really, Johnson?”. So it was the advisor, Loki made out. It also didn't escape his notice how contemptuously she voiced the name. Her accent had also withered, faltered a bit, now that she was shouting. The clearness and Britishness of it was almost faint.

“You were told from your so honourable students that I found someone in the whole of fucking Edinburgh that I actually like spending time with and you thought, ''must be a deal''? Or did you go straight ahead to ''oh, he's bloody sugar daddying her and she pays up when she's told to'? Because that's what you implied today. Oh yeah sure, I hold his hand in public, because I look all glowy and shiny at his side and it fixes his image. And yeah I smile at him because he asks me and yeah tomorrow I might let him have his way, because he promised he'll buy me the moon. Did you assume all that in your head? Really, tell me, cause I'd really like to know”.

Loki flinched.

“You twist my words. I never said-”.

“It doesn't matter what words you used. The meaning is the same. And it's insulting. And degrading. And you have no right to judge me, or my actions, or him! You know nothing about us. You know nothing. All you have is gossip and a biased opinion based on other people's biased opinions and I want nothing to do with people like that. So... fuck off and never contact me again.”

“Andrea please, don't say that. Come back in the office when you're calmer”, the woman pleaded, but Andrea righteously snapped at her again.

“I _was_ calm, until you indirectly threw in my face that I am a silly slut and that he is the worst man in the universe. And you... and you had no right to do so! No right!”.

“I'm sorry, but this isn't about if I have the right to or not. I'm concerned for your safety. You're all alone in this city. I wanted to make sure you're not being misled!”.

“Misled? You know what, I know I asked your help too many times to count. I know I came here with a lot on my plate and that you helped with everything, but that is over now. Okay, I'm grateful, but this is my life! Mine! And you don't have any say in it. Do you even understand that? I don't think you do, because you went ahead and said that my old man's abusing me. How did you even come to that conclusion in the first place?”.

“I didn't say that-”.

“Yeah, only because I interrupted you”.

“Please Andrea. I'm sorry, I didn't-”.

“You didn't what? What? You didn't mean to say it like that, or you didn't expect me to get offended?”.

“I was merely offering an opinion”.

“An opinion? So the part where you said ''if you're having trouble there are ways out, you don't have to give him anything'', what... what was that about? And what about the part about his charm and his money, just what the fuck would you know about his fucking face and his fucking pockets?”.

“It's not that hard to draw a conclusion, but that's not the point, Andrea darling, please. Just listen to me. Calm yourself. I know you're sensitive, but you're acting out like a child-”.

“Like a child? Like... like... like a child? So, let me figure this out, I'm not just his personal whore, but I am also his teenage whore”.

“These are heavy words Andrea. You're implying things-”.

“Have a nice evening, Miss Johnson”, she said and ended the call and threw the phone on the floor carelessly.

Her hands began to shake violently and the tiny desperate sobs were already trying to claw their way out of her throat and choke her in her own saliva. Her shoulders were trembling as well and all she wanted to do was crouch into herself and become as small as possible. With the meek strength she had left, she turned her body around, dropped to her knees on the floor and folded herself over the mattress, shoving her face in it to muffle the cries and force the ongoing lumps down. Her fingers found their way in her hair, where they buried themselves and began twisting as hard as they could, making her cry out in strangled gasps and hisses. Pain would help. Pain always helped. This time should be no different. _Yes. Just a little pain and then the pulsing will stop._ Her mind was already concentrating on the particular feeling, the surrendering position of her body helping her to focus and have something to grind against. The edge of the mattress was the perfect spot to thrust her hips against and bruise her pelvic bones. Perhaps she would bite her lip as well, to centre herself better. And it would be over soon. The pain would make it stop. That tension is her stomach would dissolve. The banging in her temples would ease. It would only take a minute to become herself again. That's how long her anger lasted.

But then, something quite unexpected happened. Something that she had not experienced before. Something so tender and feather like that she wasn't sure if it was even happening. She was being stopped. Stopped from gaining back control. Stopped from feeling the pain she deserved. _Who in their right mind_...

Loki took the final steps between them and dropped to his knees, behind her shuddering body. There was no time to even consider letting her go through this alone. That was the last thing she needed right now, even though it was the first she'd indirectly demanded. There was no time to allow the words exchanged in the phone call to sink in, since it was obvious that their mutual attachment was the cause of the dispute, just like he had imagined it would happen sooner or later. There was no time to whisper in that beautiful and tortured woman's ear that everything was going to be alright, because truly, things couldn't get any worse and to put it rawly, words would mean nothing to her, specifically now that she was suffering like that. And her suffering, he couldn't bear. Her crying and gasping for breath, the self inflicted pain in hopes of calming herself down, were making his heart stop and then start again, only to die seconds later with her next hiss. He had never cared about humanity's pain. They had always been beneath him and would probably remain so. Caring about their torments would only allow them to confirm his weaknesses. That a heart, no matter how cold, lived within him. But this woman's pain, was his as well. And when you recognise the signs of something you, yourself, have gone through, it's no simple task to avert your eyes and let it unfold.

This pain he could identify with. This pain was his own. He was born like this, thousands of years ago, and she was born likewise, nineteen years ago. He was born bloody, angry and icy, deprived off a mother's first touch the moment he first opened his cold, red eyes. She was born too with rage and coldness in her veins, dripping with blood and denied the one thing that could possibly end the vicious circle of her madness. And thus, his way of keeping himself under control, would not suffice in this case, even though their backgrounds as tortured entities, matched. Words and the sound of something soothing, water, air, the elements, a reminder that this turmoil only took a minute and then it would be gone, would do nothing to assist her. They would do nothing to stop her from ripping her own hair from her scalp. No. Her anger wasn't born in her mind. It sprang from deep within her chest. She needed senses, specifically one, which, with a little bit of luck, would enable her to step out of her own body and transfer warmth to another. This, would perhaps make her realise that if there was no peace in her own mind, she could take it from another's, in the basest way all species are able to communicate in.

He crouched his own body above hers, just slightly, so that she didn't feel trapped, and with the faintest of touches from his fingertips he began to trace her bare sides. She flinched violently, but paid him no more mind, undeniably set in causing herself as much pain as possible. He kept doing it for a couple of times, before he brought his hands up to untangle her fingers from her hair. When she realised what his purpose was, she put up quite the resistance, pushing her body upwards to get him off of her, jerking her elbows away so that he lost his grip on her hands. She protested in mewlings, noes and pleases, but none of it stopped him from his task.

“Shh, little one, that's not the way”, he whispered against her hair, more to assure himself than her. Chances were that the only thing she could hear right now was the sound of her blood pumping in the veins and nerves of her temples.

“Get... the hell of me!”, she snarled, her voice rough and full of anguish, struggling to get her fingers back on her hair and pull, pull as hard as she could.

He was much stronger than her and therefore could easily subdue her, but the point was not to show her that she could be easily overpowered. That could result in making her even angrier that she already was. He kept a gentle, yet firm hold of her hands, preventing her from escaping under him and when eventually she came to terms with the fact that she couldn't go anywhere, she stopped thrashing. Only then did he set them on either side of her head, placing his own above hers to keep her still. He squeezed her wrists from time to time to remind her of his presence against her and to make it as clear as possible

that pain would not be her saving grace this time. She wouldn't escape like that from the emotion. They would deal with it together, because this wasn't just about her any more.

“No... no... stop, please... no”, she pleaded through shuffles and heart clenching sobs, all soft and timid, but he tried to remain unaffected. This wasn't her. The cries were a trick, now that they were directed towards him. The play pretend weakness and fragility was an illusion that her cunning mind skilfully used against him to convince him to let go. He couldn't see her face, but he was certain that it didn't quite match the pleading, cracking tone of her voice. She was acting, because that was the only way she knew how to survive. And then she suddenly stopped it all, confirming his theory of tricky deception. _Oh, you are clever, but I've been through this before..._

 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, his front against her back, their hands stretched above their heads, hers kept firmly in place by his own. Fingers to fingers, forearms to forearms, elbows to elbows. Her body was still tense, but at least the growling and the heaving had stopped. Now she breathed heavily, gasping from time to time from the sudden shocks the combination of heat and adrenaline kept punishing her with, but thankfully he noted that she was calmer than before. He sighed in relief and gave her shoulder a quick kiss that made her gasp, like the act was utterly outrageous.

But since there was no resistance any longer, he loosened his grip on her hands and straightened his body slowly, pulling her up with him by the waist. She gasped again and he found himself thinking if it was from the unexpectedness of his actions or from her lack of faith that she deserved affection in this very uncontrolled state. He got up on his feet and dragged her up with him, just high enough to turn her around and sit her back down at the edge of the bed. Rapidly, he dropped back to his knees and pushed her legs apart to get in between them. She fought him yet again, trying to push herself back on the bed and away from him, bringing her arms up to her chest in defence of her body, which was currently being manhandled, but Loki found the spot behind her knees and yanked her forward with such force that her nose bumped against his cheekbone. _A little rough before we go gentle_ , he thought, and once he made sure she was situated right, with no possible way of escaping, he grabbed her forearms and jerked them away from her chest. That made her snap her eyes to his face, scorn and irritation burning in them. Her jaw was taut and he could tell that behind her closed mouth she was gritting her teeth hard. Her nostrils flared each time she exhaled, making it evident that she was barely holding herself from smashing her forehead against his. _I have a predisposition to violence_ , she had said. At this very moment, he couldn't doubt it even if he wanted. The anger was still there, alright, but there was also confusion and questioning. A good sign.

Seeing her struggle affected him too. He knew that her anger was not directed towards him, but the way she looked at him, with eyes dark and ominous that pierced his face menacingly, certainly made him reconsider more than a couple of times. But he was determined to soothe her and show her the way out of this without interruptions and without taking offence. What he felt he didn't let show. He put on his own mask of sternness and quiet intimidation and when he fixed his eyes on hers, predator staring at predator, it felt like fire hitting against steel, but he held his ground, showing her that he wasn't going to back down, even if she looked at him with absolute hatred. This wasn't about determining who had the upper hand. It was about making her understand that even in this moment, when control was out of reach, when she withdrew too much into her own mind, they could share the authority. Getting angry wasn't her choice, but it could be. And if she allowed him, he could show her how, just like he'd taught himself in his youth.

“Well, you're a feisty one”, he muttered under his breath, but evidently enough she heard him, because she tried to draw her hands away from his grasp, shooting him daggers with her black eyes. Speech was beyond what she could master at the moment and so she growled at him, an ominous sound full of threat, but he stood his ground and kept his face hard as steel, even though in truth, he was somewhat struggling to force a smirk from reaching his lips. _Are you going to be like this every time we fuck too? I can certainly live with that_ , he thought, but immediately scolded himself for allowing ideas like these to invade his mind in such a delicate occasion.

He began to draw circles on her forearms with his thumbs, slowly and in a steady rhythm that would hopefully extend inside her and imprint itself on her brain, registering as a tiny melody of a song. His gaze was fixed on her face to check for any available reactions, for any hints her mind was willing to share with him, and felt almost relieved when she briefly glanced down at what his hands were doing, attempting to understand why he behaved like this. The anger was by no means gone, but at least she had more of a suspicious look about her and didn't seem like she wanted to attack him or stare him to death. In return for the good change in her behaviour, he rewarded her with a faint smile and a slight nod of his head, encouraging her to acknowledge that his presence was not hostile.

“You can't tell me this doesn't feel nice”, he whispered suggestively and increased the pressure of his touch so that she could become more aware of it.

She blinked hard at his words, as if they sounded familiar and somehow applied to what he was doing. _One step at a time_ , he reminded himself and continued about his business.

“Do you remember this?”, he asked, addressing her directly this time, as he moved his hands upwards, caressing her skin in the process. A shiver went through her. He reached her delicate fingers and took them in a gentle grip, bending them with care and without breaking eye contact. He placed two kisses on each pair of knuckles. He made sure that his lips touched her skin long enough to coax a reaction out of her, and when her fingers twitched under his hold, he knew he had won.

“So you do remember it...”.

Her eyes were softer now and kept darting between his face and the spots where his mouth had been, her brows furrowed in understanding of the seemingly weird things he was doing to her. And so he gradually withdrew completely the cold mask and replaced it with a wide, genuine smile and a wink. She sucked her breath in, blinking rapidly.

“Come back to me, little dancer”, he cooed and leaned back. It was time for a more intimate touch. He knew that she wouldn't be completely herself until that nerve in her brain that tickled more than the others, as she had explained it once, was properly engaged.

He slid his fingers down to one wrist and drew her hand closer, running his thumb over the knuckles of the other to ground her and keep her concentrated. He placed it on the side of his neck, squeezing it just a bit, before letting it rest there on its own. He remembered how she wrapped her fingers at the nape, each morning, and how she liked to trace the veins on the sides, because, as she had confided in him, the skin was softest and tenderest there. That was her definition of touching nice things, things that could help her find a balance between her tension and her numbness. It was an activity that happened outside her body, but somehow worked its way inside her, producing that tickling sensation that alerted her that what she was touching felt euphoric indeed and that she wanted more and more of it. Concentrating on his skin would help her step out of her own, hot and irritable one, or so he hoped.

And he was right. The little dancer sighed heavily, a sigh that sounded like the first breath you let out when you wake up in the morning after a night of truly restful, dreamless sleep. He smiled widely at her and gave out a chuckle, as her fingertips tapped at the nape of his neck and her thumb caressed the spot underneath his ear, the two places that tickled him the most. She closed her eyes, teeth no longer gritted and her skin smooth from wrinkles and other distortions. _There you are_ , he thought contently.

“Skies are clear tonight. The moon is smiling back at you”, he whispered, his hot breath landing on her mouth, “Say it with me, darling”.

She furrowed her eyebrows, but didn't open her eyes.

“Say it. The moon...”.

“ … the moon is smiling... back at you... skies... clear... back at you...”, they breathed out together.

“Good girl. Such a good girl”, he praised, “Now, show me where you belong Andrea”, he asked hesitantly, not entirely sure that she would understand what he meant, especially now that her ecstatic sensory experience had been activated.

But she caught him by surprise when she took back her hand from his and slapped it flat on his chest. With relief and a shaky exhale, he nodded and placed his own above hers, pressing it there in silent confirmation. His other hand went to her thigh and gave a nice, relaxing rub that coaxed a barely audible humming noise to escape her lips. He felt almost gleeful to hear it.

“That's my woman”, he whispered and as soon as the words left his mouth, the little dancer pushed herself forward on the bed and clutched hard at the fabric adorning his chest with an urgency she hadn't exhibited before. Needful and tired at the same time.

Loki took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him, although she fought to keep her eyes down. Still, the flitting glances showed him the plea and the shame, mixed with the sudden confusion as to why the anger had gone away without pain.

“Do you want more Andrea?”, he asked in a low voice, leaning closer to her face, his breath landing hot on her cheek.

She blinked and nodded and looked away and blinked again, squeezing tears out of the corners of her eyes, tears he could only justify as the remnants of the previous tension. A beautiful blush came on her cheeks and she kept parting her lips, as if she was struggling to say something, but couldn't find her voice. Loki ran his thumb over those luscious, rosy petals, shushing her sweetly and reminding her at the same time that if words failed, she could still talk.

“Show me, little one. Don't be shy”, he ordered softly and used his hold on her chin to turn her face towards him once again, “Show me what you need”.

Andrea couldn't understand what had just happened, how the pulsing had stopped, how there hadn't been any pain involved. She wasn't even sure if she was completely calm, but she stopped trying to figure out any of it and simply gave in to what she felt like doing at the moment. She needed him, only him. And so with a deep breath, she squeezed the fabric one last time between her fingers and she let the hand that held onto his neck, skim down his chest and middle, until she reached the hem of his shirt. She lifted it up timidly and slowly sneaked her hand underneath to touch his side muscles, thick and taut. She yearned to caress the softness of his skin, to feel it rub against the pads of her fingers. Her need was making her braver and braver, or at least desperate enough, to tug the shirt higher, up to his stomach and look him straight in the eyes pleadingly and on the verge of tears, silently begging him to complete her silent request to touch and to be touched. To hold and to be held. She had so many questions, so much shame about the way he had seen her behave and she was sure that he wanted to know some things about that phone call and the words that had left her mouth in the midst of anger. But first, she had to do this bit. She had to bury herself in his protective arms and hide her face in the crook of his neck and make sure that the anger wouldn't return.

“Pl- please”, she chocked out, feeling all the more embarrassed by the weak, pitiful tone of her voice.

Not wasting a second, he pulled his shirt up and over his head and dropped it onto the floor, surprised by his immense desire to obey this woman so quickly and without questioning. He gazed up and observed how she raked her eyes over the delicious expanse of skin, before delving in. She took his hands in her own and placed them on her waist, urging him to touch her there, to give her comfort and courage and some happiness. Loki grabbed her instantly, rubbing at her sides, slipping his arms around her back to scoot her closer and bring him flash against his body. The more he touched and probed her, the more Andrea exhaled the last of her tension and sighed all the panic out of her body. She fell forward on his chest, nuzzling her nose and mouth against the crook of his neck, smelling him, squeezing her thighs on either side of him and locking her ankles on the small of his back, taking him inside her in the only way she knew how. Her hands briefly skimmed over his stomach and belly, before sliding under his arms to find his back. She held onto his shoulders, caressing the muscles there one by one, feeling all the bumps and committing to memory which were larger and which smaller. She relaxed against him, her insides melting from the tiny jolts of electricity the friction between their bodies brought. She shuddered under his firm hold, his long fingers massaging the small of her back and her shoulder blades so fiercely that the skin reddened and tingled. He shivered when she gently raked her nails down his spine and then dug them into the skin, squeezing him closer and closer to her core. It was a needy embrace that had them breathing heavily and sighing in gratification, even though nothing sexual was taking place.

“Would you like to go to the couch, have some tea and talk about it?”.

“Okay”, she mumbled against his skin and removed her arms from his back to wrap them around his neck. He turned his head to the side and pressed his face against her hair, smelling her perfume mixed with the sweat of her body. He brushed his lips just slightly against her earlobe to get just the slightest taste of it. It was enough to make his mind go crazy with thoughts of tasting other places, but alas, this time the need to get answers was stronger than the need to ponder over all the wicked things he could do to her, if she only let him. Yes. Just talking for now would be best.

Andrea knew that this part was coming. The part involving a discussion that was important to happen in order for a lot of issues to be solved once and for all. She wanted to have it as much as she wanted to avoid it, but the later option wouldn't be fair to either of them. So she held tight as he lifted her up with care and gentleness and tried not to feel like an adult baby that needed to be protected and tended to at all costs. The lines were a bit blurry when it came to that fact, because she loved to be treated like this by him, but at the same time she felt like she should just suck it up and let the adult take over. But she didn't have the energy to worry about that right now. She felt blue and gloomy and drained and after the phone call that horrible sense of inadequacy had crept in. And when the anger had finally taken hold, her emotional state had reached its peak. The feelings of incompetence and nerve wrecking shame had drowned her in their depths, until Loki had dived in and dragged her out, back to solid shore.

She knew she shouldn't feel like that, but even the knowledge that it wasn't her fault, was not enough to stop her from labelling herself as a disabled person that needed daily attention and monitoring in order to function properly and not erupt in an episode of madness and mayhem. All her life she had taken care of that by herself. She had kept her condition under control by the sheer will to succeed and win against what lurked inside. It was a personal achievement, to say the least, yet now, someone else had stepped in on her moment of complete abandon and had handled the situation better than doctors, psychiatrists and herself, and frankly, she didn't know if she felt grateful for or pissed about it.

From activation point and forth, her episodes were something she couldn't control and that was a fact. But he had managed to control one, out of the blue and seemingly with no plan at all, in a highly impressive way and she wanted more than anything to discover how he had achieved such a thing so fast and with such precision. Had he simply provoked her senses into taking over? Had this been his way of making sensation overtake her, ejecting the mess of emotions, in perfect synchronicity? Just how had he done it, when all the specialists she had secretly consulted for so many years had suggested that medication was the only route, when dealing with such a severe case as hers. What this man had done for her today would put all those lame scientists to shame and make them quit their, oh so successful, medical careers.

When he sat down, helping her reposition her legs so that she was comfortable on top of him, she took a deep breath, only two things in her mind. Apologise and get answers. So she sniffed and wiped whatever remaining tears had left tiny paths on her cheeks and looked down at her trembling fingers in anxious preparation.

 

She briefly looked up to check in what mood he was in and saw him magic into existence two steaming hot cups of earl grey. Now that he was occupied, she found her chance and took it, “I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being so crass on the phone and I'm sorry you saw me like this and that I put you through it. I should have controlled it better, I should have-”.

“And I want you to know that you're always either thanking me or apologising to me for the oddest of things”, he cut her off and handed her her tea. He took a sip from his own, but the hotness of the beverage burned his lips.

She knew that he was attempting to bring humour into a highly uncomfortable situation and had she not been so depressed and confused, she would have laughed. But instead, she set her cup on the little table, beside the armrest of the leather couch, and continued looking down at her hands, hoping that words would soon fall into coherent sentences. _How can one be so tired all of a sudden and feel so small that they cannot even speak?_

Loki sensed her discomfort and quiet surrender and so he set his own cup next to hers, sighing deeply and readying himself to deal with whatever issue had been created, either by her own self or by the woman on the phone. He predicted that it was a combination of both, but still he would ask Andrea directly. What was more, he felt as if there was a vestige of guilt, or something close to it, behind her need to apologise and he instantly chastised himself for having interrupting her just to sass. Perhaps she had been trying to reach a conclusion, to say something to which the apology was connected to.

He placed his hands on her apex thighs and began massaging her soothingly through the rough fabric of her jeans, his eyed glued to her frustrated, frowning face. Soon, she relaxed into it and closed her semi reddened eyes, exhaling shakily, trying to savour every bit of his touch.

“What's troubling you, little dancer?”, he asked in a quiet voice, so as not to disturb the relaxation she had just found from his hands.

In the moment it took her to answer, his eyes randomly dropped to her chest, where a thin black bralette with double straps at the shoulders and lace embroidered at the edges of the V-live, was all that held those firm and straw coloured breasts from springing out right in front of his face. And as he watched her crane her neck slightly to the side and raising her hand to rub at a spot above her shoulder blade, all he could imagine doing was make it better with his lips, while hooking a finger under the bra straps to relieve her of the useless pressure she forced herself into. His cock tightened in the confines of his pants at the thought of that, but he quickly reprimanded himself for the second time that day. He averted his eyes as soon as he had dropped them there and concentrated back on her.

Andrea lowered her head slowly and tried not to cast glances at him as she spoke, out of fear that even the slightest of glimpses at his unnervingly beautiful eyes or at the sharpness of his elegant bone structure, would strip her from all the nerve she had gathered.

“Every time other people are present when I get angry they get hurt. Going through... that... while in the same space as you... I got scared that I might... I might hurt you. I know I can't possibly. It's not feasible, but still. I was unprepared... and it just hit me like a wave. And I wasn't expecting you to intervene. I'm sorry. It... it confuses me”.

Loki frowned at the last part, “Forgive me, but was I supposed to stand by and watch you hurt yourself?”.

Andrea shook her head negatively and placed her hands on top of his on her thighs, “No, no, no. That's not what I meant. You had every right to act and if our situations were reversed, I would have acted as well. I'm grateful that you did, really, but... but... it fills me with shame and confusion, alright? I've always dealt with this thing on my own, you see”, she gasped in a desperate attempt to hold back the lump in her throat, “I was so used to... well, I always took my medication and caused myself... the pain I had to feel to make it stop. Sliced up my hand the other time. But you just... you just jumped in and stopped me”.

Loki was officially puzzled by her attempts at explaining. He lifted his back off the couch and craned his neck a bit upwards to take a better look at those haunted eyes, hoping that they would tell him more than her mouth did. But unfortunately, he discovered that she was as baffled as him.

“Are you saying that my helping you without causing you pain or feeding you pill after pill upsets you?”, he questioned calmly, not accusing, not blaming, simply asking.

The tears she was previously fighting against slipped from her eyes, “No. I'm saying that you stopping my episode without pain or pills and being successful is what upsets me, because not a fucking soul all those years suggested there was another way. When I started... when I started snapping... at people...”.

She stopped abruptly and buried her face in her palms, cursing in a low voice, before continuing tremulously, “Damn it. I was thirteen years old when this thing started and everywhere I went, without my parents knowing, I was told to stuff myself with that bottle or the other bottle to keep from smashing my head against the wall and now... now you just...”, she paused again to take a deep breath, “I have to confess it, I only half believed you when you told me that you could help me with this. I'm sorry, but... I just... when you live a certain way for so long, you get used to it to the point where... any other option doesn't seem plausible. Real. But you just... you... what _did_ you do? How? Did you use my sensory issue to distract me from my own mind? How did you do that when no one had ever thought of it before? No doctor, no specialist. How... almost seven years of this and now...”, and that was about the last thing that made it out of her mouth before she started sobbing like a scared, helpless child that was finally seeing what had already been in front of its eyes for so long.

Now it all made sense to him. She dealt with it on her own and in a way that resembled punishment and no one had ever given her hope that the issue could be subverted. Naturally, she hadn't believed him when he'd said that he could offer help, but now that he had indeed done something beneficial, everything she took as truth changed. It should be confusing and it should shock her and he wouldn't hold it against her if she continued doubting him, even after what she had experienced mere moments ago. Seven years was enough time to begin believing in the lack of change, in the lack of choice.

“Oh, little one”, he breathed out and pulled her closer by her forearms, making her bend her spine and crouch herself against him. He wrapped his long arms around her waist and back, reaching upwards to smooth her wild hair. Her body, now smaller and fearful, was shuddering with each tear wave.

“It's alright”, he whispered, shushing her with gentle caresses and words likewise. “I'm here”, he reminded calmly, his hands digging into her skin with yearning and reassurance alike.

She shoved her face in the crook of his neck, her hot tears sliding down both his front and back, as she brought her trembling hands up to cling to his shoulders and then, as if feeling bolder, drape her upper arms around his neck, hugging his head with such earnest and need that he almost felt crashed by her weight and grip. But he wouldn't trade it with anything in the world.

He rocked her back and forth, shushing her quietly, until she finished with crying those cries that tortured him. He loosened the embrace only a little, allowing her space to slouch even deeper against his seated body and began trailing her spine with his fingertips, enjoying the sensation of her shivering, her skin rising into goosebumps under the feather light touch.

“I know I'm probably pestering you about it all the time, but your kind is not as smart as you make it out to be. As theorising and providing diagnosis goes, humans are alright, but they lack in experimentation and field practice”, he cajoled, hoping that his humour would be taken well.

Andrea laughed weakly, with a voice hoarse from the sobs, but it was cut short as she filtered what he had just said.

“Wait a minute”, she mumbled, but did nothing to detach herself from him. She only lifted her head and sought his eyes and when she focused on them, they were gleaming with mischief and intent. He seemed amused and she couldn't fathom why.

“Experimentation?”, she repeated disbelievingly, “You... you had-”.

Loki chuckled lightly, “No. I had no idea if this would work or not, little dancer. But it was a risk I was willing to take, because watching you torture yourself was not an option. I couldn't bear it. I'm never able to bear it. At that moment I thought that using one issue to stop another was a drastic enough measure to bring you back to me. You crave softness and contact. Your body responds to my touch, whether it's gentle or rough, so I thought why not?”, he shrugged and moved a hand close to her face to tuck the wild strands of hair behind her beautifully shaped ears, “Was I certain that it would work on you? No. I don't hold the answers to everything, even if you believe so. I too, gamble sometimes. But you're worth gambling for”.

Andrea stared into his eyes, soft yet darker than usual, not quite sure if she was grasping everything he had just confessed to, “You asked me where my place was, what was that about? And the moon... what was that?”.

His mouth twitched up into a indignant smirk and his tone was coated with a combination of humour and scorn when he explained, “I stole the idea of a lullaby from Banner. Each time he has to turn back into his human form, agent Romanoff uses specific words and a coded touch that triggers the change. If it works on him, considering the capacity in which he receives it, then there is no reason why it wouldn't work on you too. And as you can tell for yourself, it did”.

“Did you just compare me to the Hulk?”, she tried humouring.

Loki pursed his lips, scrunching up his nose and nodding, “Well, only just a little”.

She thought about it for a second, all the worries and considerations gathered in the crease between her bushy brows, the doubt trapped between the thin line her lips formed. When she looked at him again, she had a questioning look about the entirety of her face, but there was also hope. Hope one assumes, when there's finally a light, a solution, to a dark problem.

“No more... no more pain?”, was all she said, making his heart clench.

He shook his head and leaned in to place a tender kiss on her shoulder, “No more pain, little one”. He whispered against her skin. “Just a touch and a lullaby and you're back. I'm confident that if we practice it enough, it will stick and so each time I wont even have to initiate it. You will be following the steps on your own accord. Darling, you're not as doomed as you might think. It feels like it, I know. But you're not. _I'm here now_ ”.

She closed her eyes then and slowly leaned forward until her forehead rested on his, smiling, agreeing. Her hands squeezed the sides of his neck and a bit of his shoulders too, as she smoothly whispered, “I told you you were an angel”, straight in his ear, before pressing her face down to the spot where shoulder met neck, inhaling the scent of the man who had saved her more times than she could count. This man who made everything work, when she was stuck on the idea that there were no ways out. This man with his touches and his caresses and his silvery words and peculiar ways, were all she would ever need in order to survive this cruel and constant challenge of being.

Loki giggled softly, like a child receiving praise for the first time in a while for a good deed. For a smart decision. For a worthy way of dealing with something that troubled another being for so long. But perhaps it wasn't even the words themselves that made him feel so full of joy. Perhaps it wasn't even the sweet, trusting way in which she uttered them that made him tighten his arms around her. Perhaps it was how she touched him. Cradling his head like a mother would hold a favourite son. Allowing him access to the sweaty crook of her neck, to the tender spot above her collarbone. Gifting him with her skin, because this was what mattered to her most. Contact. What she received, she gave back. He was her angel. And she rewarded him with what meant the world to her, with what affected her the most. Yes. That was what made him complete in all the incompleteness of his character. And important in all his sense of unimportance.

 _Freedom is humanity's greatest lie_. That was what he'd said once. And freedom was a lie indeed, just not when the being that was supposed to fear you and submit under the premise of punishment, holds you as if _you're_ the one that needs release from choice and responsibility.

 _How the tables have turned_ , he thought to himself, as he sat in silence with her on top of him, so willing and in control of him and his feelings when _he_ should be the one administering authority. But where there's trust, there are no masters and pets. There's only the safe exchange of roles when one is tired of constantly having to play a part. And he didn't care. For those brief moments, he didn't care if he was the one melting in her embrace, while she assumed the role of comforter and peaceful encourager. He wanted to be assured and cared for as much as she did, and she was giving this to him without asking, or even without knowing that she was doing it in the first place. No matter. These things didn't need to be put into words. They simply needed to be felt. And he was feeling them. With her. For once in his life, he felt like the praise was acceptable and could be received without a tinge of salt. _If you want me to be your angel, that's what I'll be..._

She raised her head then, as if having heard his thoughts, and slid her splayed hands down his strong chest to find the proper balance she needed, in order to wiggle her bum and sit more comfortably. She had that puckish smile on her face. The smile that played tricks and warned you that she was entertaining a thought. That there was something at the tip of her tongue, just on the verge of spilling out. Her eyes, playfully emerald and twinkling, darted up to find his own curious and expectant ones and right then, the green and the blue started dancing.

“Tell me”, he urged and wishing to make his point clearer, he planted his hands on her sides and rubbed over the bones of her ribcage with his thumbs, counting them as he passed each one, committing them to memory. Her skin broke out in goose flesh and the thin sheet of soft, golden hairs that adorned her body, rose, electrified.

She pressed her palms on his chest, but not to push him away and force him to stop, but because she needed to find a counter touch, a touch that would keep her from losing herself completely, as she answered him. The looseness was evident in her voice, “What you did today, was not your way, right? It's not how you keep yourself under control when you get mad. Why... why didn't you use your way on me, instead of improvising?”.

He smirked, understanding the point, “You're correct. It's not my way. But at that moment, my way didn't feel like the right thing to do”.

“Since when do you choose to do what's right?”, Andrea joked, but was rewarded with the digging of his thumbs between the heavy ribcage bones. It hurt a little and as she didn't expect it, she arched her back and gasped loudly. When she looked down at him, all question and meanness washed out of her. He was smiling that devious smile. That playful, childlike smile that said, ''careful, because you're the one in the vulnerable position here''. She bit her lip and briefly thought of what she'd give to make this mood of his permanent.

“Why didn't you use it on me?”, she pressed, her boldness beginning to abandon her.

“It takes a certain amount of concentration and patience to achieve calmness in my way. And let me remind you that you possessed neither a few moments ago. You were all wild and ready to smash your head against mine”, he explained with a wicked wink.

She nodded and accepted the fact with a shy smile. She didn't feel like pushing him to give any further details and so ended the topic with a hopeful question, “Will you show me someday how you do it?”.

His eyes darkened then, playful smirk still breaking through his features, but it looked different. _He_ looked different, for these brief moments between being asked and providing the reply. She noted the wide, menacing dilation of his pupils and the absence of the reassuring blue. He stared at her in a way most women wouldn't want to be stared at. With a hidden desire lurking in the little grinning wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and imminent mischief burning in what was left of his eye colour. She felt herself anticipating something unknown. She was trying to catch her breath, but he was pushing it out of her lungs. She was trying to control the hotness on her cheeks, but he made her feel bashful all over again.

It was moments like these, full of intensity and unspoken truths, that a lever was pulled down, somewhere inside her, and her body acted differently, pushing her mind around like a toy and stripping it off control. Those new inner workings she couldn't explain and couldn't compare to anything she had felt before. Her skin felt warmer than usual, surely, as if she was been stared at by the eye of the sun. Her limbs were strong and on alert at one moment, and then wobbly and unsteady at the other. Inexplicable. Her belly felt heavy and tense, as if she was pregnant, but not with an embryo. Eerie. It run incongruous to the spot between her legs and the canal that linked it to her womb. Those seemed to relax and grow wetter and wetter, as if they wished to welcome someone inside. Someone who would bring with him sensations so extraordinary and unfamiliar that would shake her to her very bones. The thought of it made her wince. Why would tearing her apart feel extraordinary?

And then suddenly, it was over. His muscled, half naked body tensed underneath her and his eyes lost the darkness. They became soft and looked away. The iron control, control with which she identified, returned and the mischief... the mischief disappeared. For some reason she sensed that that wasn't always the case. Her heart told her that there had been a time in his life when that glimmer of whimsical chaos and almost carefree mayhem burned bright and could not be extinguished no matter the hardships and punishments. Where had that glint gone? How could she bring it back?

“Someday I might”, he said and that was her signal to drop the subject all together. He gently patted her sides and raised his back off the couch to plant another soft kiss on her shoulder, “Now, I just prefer to hold you”.

Just like her, he couldn't be pushed to talk and _that_ she respected. Such great self-awareness was certainly a god sent advantage in their strange entanglement. She smiled her understanding and crouched herself against him once again, allowing him to envelop her in his warm embrace. His arms ascended to her back immediately and started counting the bones of her spine, vertebrae by vertebrae, while her hands dropped to his sides to find more comfort in the softness of his pale skin, around the waist.

During the peaceful silence that followed they did nothing but hold each other and occasionally sip their tea, the only sounds in the room being their slurping of the hot beverage and their breathing. Sometimes they concentrated on the way their hearts pounded. A little faster, when there was a caress or a brush, and a little slower, when they lay perfectly still on the somewhat uncomfortable leather couch. That was the most special thing about them. The fact that when the world stopped for a certain amount of time, they still knew how to exist around each other. When the noise was nowhere to be found, they knew what to do with the silence and when there were no words to be said they knew how communicate with their hands. That was the truth of them.

“May I know what happened at the meeting today?”, Loki asked at some point in a quiet, polite voice as he drew tiny circles on her naked skin.

It was time to discuss it, not really because he wanted to know what had commenced, but because he needed to know what it was exactly that had roused such anger inside her. The phone call that had followed had been intense and the heavy words exchanged played in his mind over and over like a broken tape. They burned him and made him go wild with the need to know how they applied to the little dancer's frame of mind. None of the epithets made him as upset as the uttering of _whore._ It brought back memories from the club, memories that reminded him how frustrated she had felt when accused of such a thing. Was this still the case? Did she feel like that, even though he had assured her otherwise? Did him denying that she was one, made any difference back then?

She sighed heavily, her hot breath warming his sternum. Tiredness had settled in her bones for good, but she pushed through, “Long story short, she said some things about our... status. I didn't like it. It pissed me off, so I got up and left. But apparently, she had the brilliant idea to call me afterwards and continue with her suggestions. If she hadn't... I might... have been able to control myself better”.

“So it was human stupidity that triggered you this time?”, he cajoled.

She gave a weak laugh, “Yes... and no”.

His brows furrowed, “What else was it then?”.

“Remember that time at the club... with Lizzy?”.

“Yes, what of it?”.

She sniffed and exhaled deeply, “She assumed things about you. That's what you had said. Things about who you are, what you want”, she reminded, “You didn't like it. Well... the thing is... I have started to feel like that as well. Not... not necessarily when people say stuff about me, I'm used to that. And it doesn't even annoy me when they say things about you, because I don't believe them. I believe _you_. But... today I realised that... when they say things about... us... I can get so angry. They have no right and we certainly didn't give them any, but if there's one thing I know, is that they will never stop, so we might as well do whatever the hell we want”, she concluded, absent mindedly digging her nails into his waist.

He took her word for it, for sure, but still, there was this tiny amount of doubt and the annoying twinge of suspicion festering inside him that he couldn't cleanse. Even if they were somebody else's words, she had called herself things he didn't really appreciate. Things that had irritated him to hear her say out loud. And so, even though it had been his insistence to not label the relationship developing between them, he had to know how she viewed the both of them. He was aware that by asking her he basically went against the rules of his own making, but the... insecurity, if he had to admit it as such, was scalding him. The way she had defended not just herself, but him as well, on the phone against the advisor's opinions, harboured a sense of pride and honour, loyalty that had touched him as much as had confused him. Why did she feel like she needed to defend them both? What was the thought behind it?

“Andrea what do you think of me?”, he asked abruptly, deciding then and there that if he didn't utter the question now, he never would.

The instant the words left his mouth, he felt her stiffen and heard her swallowing thickly. He followed her movements with his eyes, as she slowly let him go and sat up, still straddling him, but just not touching him. He let her put distance between them, knowing that there was probably a reason why she did it and settled for sitting back, as comfortably as possible, stretching his arms over the back of the couch, hoping that she wouldn't stab him too deeply in the chest with her answer.

“What do you think of yourself? Of us?”, he pressed.

A blush, hot and red spread out on her cheeks. A blush he obviously saw. Despite it, she found the courage to ask, “Is this about what I said on the phone?”.

Loki shrugged lightly, his eyes never leaving her face, “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe that is just my excuse for generally asking. Tell me your mind. What do you think?”.

Andrea looked down to her spread thighs on his lap and kept staring at the dark fabric of his jeans, hoping that there was some answer in the deep blue of it. This was a defining moment for both of them, she could feel it, and her answer was instantly made mandatory. But she found herself unable to form sentences that would make sense. The words wouldn't come in any of the languages she spoke. So, for the time being, she settled for repeating what Johnson had said, hoping that inspiration would come later.

“We... you and me... we agreed that we wouldn't name... this”, she began, indicating between their bodies with a trembling hand, “But, for whatever reason, my advisor, gave us a label today. Of course, she phrased it more eloquently and more indirectly than me, but, like I said, at the end of the day, it's the same thing. Basically, she called you rich, dangerous, abusive and charming and suggested that...”, she cleared her throat, “... that I fell for that and that... that's why I'm with you. To be honest... it's nothing I haven't expected to hear one day. And I can't say I felt insulted by it, no, not really. I wasn't offended by that. It's a way of living, I guess. Many people... women, choose it. I refuse to shame it or make it sound degrading. It's not, okay? It's not”, she declared, her voice breaking towards the end. She didn't know why, but her own words made her tear up and it was so unexpected that she didn't even feel the first tear rolling down her cheek. Nor the second. Or the third for that matter.

But Loki saw them and reached out to wipe them away with his knuckles. At first she flinched, not sure why he caressed her face like that, but when she saw his skin glistening with moisture, she understood. His hand didn't leave her cheek. It remained there to turn her rosy face towards him, until their eyes met.

“Have I ever made you feel that we are what you describe?”, he asked sternly, but Andrea could sense the pain behind it. Her heart froze for a horrible minute. Why was he saying that? Why was he taking it upon himself? This was nobody's fault. That wasn't the point.

 _What? That you're my sugar daddy and I'm your slut?_ , she thought back to the words she had used on the phone, the pink on her cheeks suddenly turning crimson. She shook her head negatively and rushed to answer.

“No. I don't... it doesn't feel like that, Loki, no we are not like that. I don't see us like... but, if others do... I don't care because it's their opinion, but if... if they express it to me, especially in that fake and eloquent manner, then it becomes my business and I feel like I have to defend us both against it”, she sniffed and gave him a weak chuckle, “Am I making any sense?”.

“Of course you do, little dancer. It's the natural way to react. But I need you to understand that you don't have to. You said it yourself, we haven't given the right to anyone to label us”, he assured her and the grateful way in which he said it warmed her heart and put it back into place. But unfortunately, it didn't last long, as a new disturbing thought found its way to her mind. Why would he ask how she felt about them both, if they were clear about it from the start? It didn't make sense. And it certainly couldn't be justified by sheer insecurity. He was never insecure with no reason.

She cleared her throat and made sure that her eyes were glued to her hands on her lap, as she asked the most uncomfortable question of her life, “Have _I_... have I ever made you feel like... you have to... assume that role?”.

“Do you want me to?”, he teased immediately, setting her cheeks afire.

A quick glimpse at his grinning face, like the cat that caught the cream, made the words spill out of her messily, in a screwed up attempt at justifying the question, “No, I mean, no. I mean, Miss Johnson _did_ call you old and she did use the term ''financially flexible'', although I don't see you... I don't see you as that old, but well, it's true... kind of... that you pay my bills and my staying here and... and the food that gets into the house, while I' m basically lounging around.... like, like I own the place-”.

“Please, stop talking”, he ordered, squeezing her waist harder than he had to.

“Yeah, okay”, she agreed and tried to squirm away, but he didn't let her. So instead she buried her face in her palms, knowing for certain now that she had messed things up. But what was she really trying to hide? Her embarrassed face or the little suggestive smile at the corner of her lips? Had she angered him with her ignorance? With her little doubts and worries? With her consistency about not caring about anyone's opinion but being, deep down, affected by it nonetheless?

“You know what, just forget it. It was stupid of me to ask”.

“No, it was not stupid. And the fact that you _did_ ask, little dancer, only means that I have to make sure you don't ask again”.

“No. No. I don't understa-”, she said, shaking her hidden face.

“Andrea look at me”, he commanded, but it was softly and patiently spoken, in that way that made her want to obey more than anything, even if it shamed her down to her bone and marrow.

She peaked at him through her fingers at first and when she saw that he was smiling at her that warm, safe smile of his that urged her to do whatever he asked as soon as he had asked for it, she lowered her hands down to her lap and hesitantly met his gaze, lower lip caught between teeth.

He had that expression on his face that suggested that she was either about to be scolded for the sheer stupidity of what she had just uttered or assured in the rawest way possible that what she described wasn't the case. When he spoke in that same authoritative tone, he had used on her back at the private room, when he had needed her to stay focused and to trust him despite herself, she confirmed that out of the two options she had right now, the second _he_ would choose.

“Have I ever treated you as if you're lesser than me? As if you're nothing but a young child that needs to be told how to act and how to behave? Have I imposed myself on you under the premise that I'm older and thus wiser and you, younger and foolish? I do call you darling names, but am I belittling you? Am I suggesting that you should behave like a little girl to spark my own selfish urges?”, he asked eloquently.

Andrea's mouth suddenly felt quite dry, as it had fell open the moment she'd heard the edge in his voice. There was no urgency in his tone, no sharpness and no accusation. He wasn't angry, but there was a light tension in his eye that didn't exactly categorise him as calm either. She sensed immediately that his behaviour and this abrupt change in the tune of the conversation was tailor made on purpose, because he wanted to make a point. To make her realise something. But whatever it was, she couldn't grasp it yet. She was too hot in the cheeks and neck and too shy to allow her mind to venture further.

“Answer me”, he ordered then and squeezed her waist a little tighter to bring her to attention.

“No, no. Never”, she answered hastily, searching his face for any hints as to where this was going. His handling wasn't rough, in contrast to his voice. It was still attentive and respective, but just on the right side of dominative to show her who had the upper hand for the time being. For as long as the uncomfortable questions and answers would keep coming.

He smirked and repeated, “No. Never. Is there a collar around that pretty neck of yours that puts you in a position where your choices are not your own?”.

This time she couldn't control her flinching reaction nor the shiver that ran down her spine. This wasn't fair. His hands rubbing at her sides in this specific moment wasn't fair. Him talking about collars like that... wasn't... fair.

“Is there Andrea?”, he repeated, although this time his voice was considerably lower, more intimate, “Are you subjected to my will, because you're a little girl and can't handle yourself?”.

She shook her head no.

“Precisely. That is because your age means nothing to me. It's merely a number that defines how long you've been alive. But the brilliant person you are, the maturity of your character _does_ mean a lot. And the fact that it perfectly matches to my own, me, who I'm not simply old, but ancient, speaks volumes, little dancer. I don't question you, because I trust your decision making. I don't control you, because I know that even if I tried, you'd chop my balls off”, she shyly smiled at that, “That's how powerful you are. I don't point out the years between us, because our minds are the same, whether you want to admit it or not. And I am certainly not working on making you bow your head, if and whenever I raise my voice”, he assured, slightly craning his neck to look into her eyes.

She blinked quickly, digesting the words. It was true. They were both adults, both in body and spirit and they had their fair share of experience in this cruel world to know how they should act in order to survive or get what they want. They viewed each other as equals in whatever this was between them and no advisor or suspicious student could tell otherwise and diminish what they felt for each other or how strong their bond was.

“Have I ever ordered you around or kept you from going wherever you want? Have I denied you access to places? Have I?”, he continued and she shook her head negatively, feeling a little guilty as she listened to how his tone faltered at the end, as if he was losing his grip.

Of course he hadn't. It was her that felt insecure about going places on her own and brought him with her all the time. And he had come, without questioning, without petulance, each and every one of those times, because he cared. Because he knew that memories were tricky and sometimes stronger than someone's will to do what needed to be done. He was escorting her everywhere, because he wanted to assure she felt comfortable and empowered, not because he was all brawn, all virile man, bound to protect a possession from the eyes of the many.

“On the contrary”, she muttered under her breath and felt his thumbs rub at the skin above the waistband of her jeans encouragingly.

His voice calmed a bit, but that only meant that the words would sting more, “I _am_ paying for you and I _am_ sustaining you and I certainly welcome you to my bed every night...”, he paused for a moment and took her chin between his fingers, bringing their faces closer, establishing an impossible eye contact that made her insides clench, “... our bed...”, he corrected, “... but have I ever asked you to spread your legs for me and start repaying the generosity or the hospitality?”.

Andrea's breath hitched in her throat, but he needed to make her understand this once and for all, so he continued, ignoring her shy, terrified eyes, “I _am_ helping you to keep your own place, just in case you need it, but have I ever forced you to drop to your knees and suck me off to return the kindness?”.

He was being crass, not just due to the words he used, but because of the way he said them. So calm and uncaring, as if they were words exchanged frequently between them. Only they weren't and it initially shocked her to the point where she had to break eye contact to avoid staring at the sensual smiling lips. But she had now found out why he was doing this. She had discovered the tiny lilt of amusement in his voice and the tenderness behind the roughness. She knew why.

“No”.

“Exactly. But I could, couldn't I? It would be so easy. You would certainly struggle, but still... it would only add to the excitement, wouldn't it?”.

She gasped at that and for a brief moment, she dared to believe him. It was an atrocious thought, a horrible scenario. A disgusting freedom which he could assert over her body, anytime he wished. Then why did it feel so true and exciting? Was he really expecting an answer to that?

“Wouldn't it?”, he insisted, tightening his grip on her chin.

“Yes it would”, she whispered, not quite believing herself as she uttered the three words.

“Yes it would”, he repeated, letting go and returning to her waist, as he lowered himself back on the couch, “So very easy to go back to the time you called me Sir. To the time when you were Little V to me. So easy to force you to do anything I want, just like that woman suggested today, right? But am I? Have I?”.

She didn't waste anytime answering that one, “No. You're nice to me. You've always been”.

He chuckled at her urgency and shook his head, “It has nothing to do with that. I could be nice and still abuse you. I could be no different than the men visiting the club you used to work in. I could hit you and still kiss your hand to manipulate you into staying with me. I could fuck you raw, against your will, and still draw you a bath to sooth the pain”.

“No”, she said decisively, shaking her head negatively and reaching out to him, her hands immediately going to his neck to settle on either side, “No”.

“Yes”, he disagreed, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his point. His own hands slid up from her waist to her back pushing against her small just enough to make her spine arch.

“Do you know why I haven't Andrea? Do you know why I don't take advantage? Do you know by now, just _why_ you're here? In this house? In my arms? Spread out on top of me? Half naked and pleading? Dancing every Sunday?”

She nodded in absolute understanding, but she kept quiet, needing him him to say it out loud. Wishing to make sure, although she trusted him with her life. Perhaps, _he_ even needed to hear himself say it and so she did nothing to stop him from expressing what was engraved in his heart. What he wanted her to understand and never question again.

He found her eyes, worried, but loving and already reassured, and kept her gaze as he spoke words that he had never uttered before, “Because whatever this is between us is not based on a sexual deal defined by rules and prohibitions. It's not a contract that indicates that I pay for you and you shut your mouth and do as you're told. You owe me nothing. You can get up and leave anytime you wish. I will not stop you. I too, owe nothing to the petty individuals that reside in this pathetic planet, because it's not their money I use to provide for you. My, 'financial flexibility', as your advisor so politely put it, is a result of my magic. I create these colourful paper things, little one. They are valid but I do not own them. They mean nothing to me. I only find a use for them, because this is how this planet works and because this is how I can make sure you have everything you need. I did make you an offer, yes, but if you remember it doesn't involve you doing things you're not comfortable with in order to earn that money from me, now does it?”.

Andrea shook her head again, a bit on the verge of tears. As he spoke those things everything started to feel better. His arms embracing her and shielding her against his hard body and her own hold on his neck were equal to the strongest armour they could conjure together. His eyes touched her like burning feathers, nurturing nothing of the tension and urgency to make her understand with harsh words and violent images, as was before. His voice was silky and smooth and his breath, landing on her cheeks each time he opened his thin lips, felt like a cool breeze in the middle of the desert under the scorching sun. He even smelled better, if something like that was possible. The spice and her sweat mixing together to create their own signature fragrance drove them both a little crazy with mutual joy.

“No. I simply requested a dance, because communicating with you is as important as touching you. And tell me, do you not wish for my touch? Do you not want it? Am I forcing it on you and you're only accepting it, because if you don't, I'll throw you on the street?”.

Her eyes widened, a new rush of heat surging through her and hitting her right between the legs, where the skin already felt tingly. She looked at him with such fierceness that it ached, her big, green spheres injected with glassy need and barely tempered lust. The only way to hide them was to bury her face in the crook of his neck, but even then her emotion was too hard to contain.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging at them, while nuzzling her face against his hot skin. As she whispered, her plush lips brushed against his collarbone, making him ache unbearably, showing him the passion and wantonness, as best as she could, “Of course not... I need it... I need you. I need you. This... this isn't an offer any more, not for me”.

A low, affirming ramble reverberated within his chest, “No. It's not an offer for me either”.

His arms around her tightened, resulting in her breasts squishing between their bodies, the lace of her brallete tickling his nipples and his face being shoved where her shoulder met that beautiful, swan like neck, but despite all those tantalising temptations he didn't let go. He only found her ear and whispered straight into it, making sure that his lips touched her earlobe with every syllable, “Then the answer to your question is no. I don't feel like what your advisor described me as, but even if you wanted me to play that role, for whatever reason, I'd have no problem doing so. As long as you kept living with me in this apartment, as long as you stayed in my arms each night, as long as you gave me pieces of yourself whenever the mood stuck you, I'd do anything. I'd be anything. And you should listen to these words carefully and take them to heart, because I'll never speak them again. From this point on, you'll have them proven in other ways”, he concluded and smirked against her neck suggestively.

There was no reason to take time and carefully consider what he had said. He wasn't trying to trick her into anything, just make her see. No games, no illusions, only cruel honesty peppered with the occasional dirty word to establish a point. Exactly the way she wanted him to talk to her, even if she shied away from it. He was giving her his thoughts on a silver plate, like a meal, a piece offering that she was allowed to indulge in only this once in order to quench her insecurity and then he would take it away again, but not without the promise of sweet wine to wash it all down. _I'd do anything... I'd be anything..._

“You're already proving it”, she whispered, sighing audibly and simultaneously attempting to get as close to his core as possible, out of pure instinct. It was as if something inside her was pulled, like a magnet, towards his body and she was helpless to stop it.

He closed his eyes and breathed her in, relishing in the feel of her against him. Her lovely skin, bent spine, sighing core, dripping eyes, her weight on top of his lap, the pressure between them. It was emotional nakedness coming before physical and he felt the need to cover himself with her body to make it go away, thus he hugged her tighter, wishing for the loss he felt inside to somehow be filled.

“Do you understand now?”, he repeated the question, phrased a night not so long ago. He wasn't sure how she would answer. He only knew that he needed reassurance. And even the sound of her bass voice would suffice.

“No one...”, she paused, briefly considering how melodramatic she would sound, but instantly shaking the thought out of her mind. Life was dramatic and accepting it, as a fact, was just surviving until the end of the show, “No one will take me away from you. We... we are who we are, unlabelled and free, but... sort of... ah... imprisoned inside each other. And... we're not letting go, never, no matter what they say”, she sighed and in a sudden moment of bravery, gently pressed her lips against the side of his neck. It wasn't a kiss, but it wasn't a random brush either, “That's what I understand”. _I'm needed_.

He smiled and pressed his own lips against her ear, but that _was_ a kiss. A sweet kiss that meant thank you. Thank you for your brilliant words and your mindfulness. Thank you for shielding me without me having to ask. Thank you for holding me. Comforting me. Thank you for sparking in me such a fire. For not letting my words fade away and turn into nothingness. He thanked her for all these, silently, inwardly, even though he knew he had to use his voice and speak them aloud. But he felt so naked, so worn out from having to prove himself, to assure her that she shouldn't see him as a mere benefactor, that the only thing he could do was crash her under his grip and let the silence heal the rest of their wounds from tonight. The only gratitude he could show was with his body. The only thank you he could say.

“Clever woman”, he praised, but there was no chuckle. No giggle. No words of acceptance. No blush. Only silence and her breathing. And then...

“You're welcome”, she answered.

 


	23. if the shoe fits...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea and Loki agree on doing something different than sit in the apartment, for a change. Something that in Andrea's mind establishes them as a couple. Loki is happy to oblige her. Yet an unexpected occurrence, a little story and the smell of leather will keep them within its walls for just a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning my trusted, beautiful readers! Here lies chapter 23, perfectly tailored, deviously written to make you drool and swoon and start throwing pillows against the walls in frustration. I know I did, during typing, imagine that! But anyways, I sincerely hope you like it! Also, let me tell you that now that I'm back from Scotland, I have so so so many ideas about scenes that can take place in many locations I visited! It's like... it's like the Highland wind there blew ideas into my nostrils! I promise, you will not be disappointed. 
> 
> **As always, images are burrowed from the web and so their rights belong to their respective owners. Let me explain to you the second picture you'll encounter here. It's nothing major, just a peak at how the walk in closet in the penthouse might look. All dark and mysterious and... black. I added it in the last minute. 
> 
> Also, at some point in this chapter Andrea refers to her origins. Now you all knew she was from Greece, but in this chapter you learn from which city. She refers to it through a... kind of myth, I suppose. It's not really historically proven, but the story goes like that: Sparta in the ancient times was widely known for its cruelty, fierceness in the battlefield, simple way of life, overly skilled warriors and much more rough stuff. When babies were born, babies that looked weak, injured, maybe mentally ill or deformed, babies that couldn't possibly grow up to become great warriors, they would be taken and thrown off the highest, steepest cliff from where they'd fall into rivers, creeks, rocks, the sea, who knows. Savage huh? Again, it's not absolutely historically proven, so don't take every word as truth. 
> 
> Thank you for all your support! Your kudos, your comments, for everything. This story wouldn't exist without you!

“Good morning, handsome”, Andrea whispered croakily against her God's chest as she stretched her arms and legs, careful not to disentangle herself from his body by any means. Abandoning the wonderful velvety hotness of his skin wasn't on the top of the list for today. Indeed, morning or even afternoon, may have arrived, but there was absolutely no reason to rush out of bed and get cold and morose. The lack of him against her tended to bring that about. A quiet ramble, coming from deep within his chest, confirmed that their wishes were in alliance.

Laughing weakly, she buried her face in the middle of his chest, her face distorting cutely, when the soft little hairs tickled her nose. She breathed him in, stretching her lungs to their limits, as she did each morning, and simultaneously let her hand roam over his toned back until she finally let it rest on the small. She loved to trace the two stiff, yet lean muscles that accentuated his dimples, dimples that tapered beautifully down to his firm buttocks. And when she rubbed them soothingly in circles, she always caught herself gasping due to how fast he responded to the touch by lightly thrusting his hips towards her, as if he wanted to escape the uncomfortable feeling, yet seek more of it at the same time. Experimenting, she massaged the spot harder and giggled when another, substantially needier, thrust hit her right at the hipbones. _What would you do if I kissed you there?_ , she found herself wondering, licking her lips. In his semi awakened state, all he was able to do was groan and if she wasn't still a little sleepy herself, she would have sworn that he smiled against the top of her head, where his face was constantly shoved every time they rested.

His arms suddenly came to life and squeezed tighter around her shoulders and waist, those frightfully big hands grabbing her with such force and those long fingers digging into her skin yearningly that she almost felt the exciting beginnings of small, vertical bruises, in the shapes of pads. But soon, he loosened his hold and relaxed, probably because he slipped out of consciousness and fell asleep again. Bodies are often roused from their soothed state to make sure their other halves are still present around them and then they shut down again and return to the land of black nothingness. It was so incredibly human of him to do so and so undeniably sexy that it made her chuckle. He, the almighty, knowledgable, genius God who blamed this planet for its lack of brains woke up sometimes, just barely, to assure himself that his personal human hadn't escaped from their bed. The mere thought was enough to make a girl feel weak in the knees and funny between the legs.

Last night they had gone to bed early. Andrea had changed into comfier clothes, - sleeping in those rough jeans was not an option-, and Loki had simply stripped down to delicious nothing and gotten under the covers, all too eager to just unwind and sleep through the whole of afternoon and only wake up when afternoon would come again. She had jumped into bed after him, crawling, like the little wet cat she was, in his arms and had fallen asleep in less than ten seconds. Nestled against his chest and shielded by his ridiculously long and lithe limbs, in a kind of a protective cocoon, she expected the light of dawn to break free and transform her into a butterfly. Only morning had passed, amusingly so, and afternoon was greeting them with its gloominess and white thick snow of early December.

After the discussion they had, her mind had been put at ease about a long list of things, initially created and sparked by the insecurities the international advisor had cultivated inside her young and seemingly inexperienced mind. Apart from the fact that there was no reason to bother with people's opinions and only care about each other, she had triumphantly reached the conclusion that this man wanted her. If she hadn't realised it until this point, now was the time to fully embrace it and cease doubting it. He wanted her in whichever capacity she felt comfortable in and would have her by his side no matter what that entailed. He had declared it, loud and clear. It was difficult to find excuses around it and shut it down. _I'd do anything, I'd be anything_. His words echoed in the walls of her mind still, even though hours and hours of restful sleep had passed. _As long as you kept living with me in this apartment_. The severity of those promises, weighted heavy, but it wasn't an annoying, unbearable burden. It was a humongous realisation that nestled deep inside her chest, creating the giddiest of sensations in her stomach and, as if that wasn't enough, clouded her braincells with insurmountable fuzziness. _School girl mode, in simple words_ , she thought, not able to hold back her giggles.

But, in all honesty, how can a woman not feel honoured when a man lays all of his intentions, wants and feelings right at her feet and lets her do with them whatever she desires, whatever she thinks it's right? By some unexpected twist of fate, their lives had been entwined and even though there was fear and inhibition, - since she had never shared her daily existence with anyone before, and especially a man who craved her down to her very bones and had no qualms about stating it whatsoever-, despite all these, she was determined to not let go. To not place distance where distance shouldn't even be considered as a concept. She had to treat him right. She had to take his feelings deep into her and allow her closed off heart to reciprocate them in the same raw, yet sweet manner. Like poets exchanging words and flowers and seduction in the middle ages.

“Good morning, little dancer”, he whispered in a strangely awakened voice, stirring against her warm, fidgety body. He rolled on his back to stretch arms and legs as far as they would go and omething in his sudden physical elasticity and suggestive tone made her think that he wasn't as asleep as she had made him out to be and for some inexplicable reason, it brought a grin on her face. _Oh yes, he can definitely hear me thinking,_ was her last thought before changing her own position as well.

Feeling emboldened by her previous internal monologue and assured of the casual intimacy that was established between them, she rolled along with him. It was easy to straddle him, since she already had one arm and one leg draped over his body, but what had fallen out of her calculations was the bizarrely dominating position she would end up in. Probably having pushed herself up more than was necessary, she found herself standing above his chest, her knees cushioned on the mattress either side of his ribcage, inches way from his armpits, her wet womanhood barely a couple of centimetres away from his already grinning face. She managed to find her balance by placing her hands flat on the headboard, but still, by some dirty law of gravity, her upper body insisted on swaying forward, making the hem of her baggy shirt caress his sharp jaw each time steadiness was just out of reach.

“Such a thoughtful woman...”, he began teasing in that silvery, smoky voice, as his hands took the liberty to ascend her thighs, squeezing as they went, forcing her attention to turn towards his, even unwillingly, “...brought me breakfast in bed”.

For a moment, she considered gasping in mock shock and chastise him for being this lewd, first thing in the morning, to a poor damsel who just happened to be terrible in geometry and physics. But instead, all she did was blush furiously from her semi plump cheeks to her chest and down to the spot between her legs. If it was feasible for the human body to blush there, then she declared definitely hotter and swollen. She glanced away and mentally challenged any woman in this world to not act like that, when a baritone, sensual voice, full of sleepy, aroused notes makes its way to their ears. That, in combination with his pair of rough, strong hands at the tops of her thighs, caressing her as if preparing her for potential following depravities, and that longing stare of worship glassing over his eyes, was all it took for the silk protected flesh between her thighs to surge with blood and succumb to the beginnings of the most annoying tingling sensation.

She decided on the spot that she liked his nasty humour, but she wanted payback for the disturbing fire at the walls of her belly, firstly because she simply liked having fun with him that way and secondly, because she just had to see if she could do it. But with consternation she realised that she had no idea how to stimulate a man just enough to make him feel a bit uncomfortable between the legs. It wasn't like she had wanted to acquire the specific skill in the past. There had been no one. Not a flirt. Not a kiss. Not a fling. Hell, not even a timid first smile, neither from her nor from the male population at the school she used to go to. She had never been the kind of girl to bring attention upon her person and had long accepted that boys didn't approach her precisely because of it. But that was, until a man did. A man she had currently trapped on the bed with her thighs and who didn't seem to want to escape anytime soon. A man that fitted the description of male maleness and had the brains to support it and was choosing to stay right where she'd put him. A man who was just now raising his head sneakily off the bed and was using her legs for support in order to get his face closer to her belly and sniff his so-called breakfast like an all too eager, all too loyal dog.

She squeaked in surprise, but mostly out of fear of what he would catch with that expert nose of his. And yet, she couldn't help but laugh at how funny he looked in his quest to unsettle her. A part of her always thought that he did things like that to stop her from overthinking and for that, even if it was only a hypothesis, she was grateful. She always had the biggest stick up her arse, if that was possible. Until him, letting go had been a doubtful prospect.

“Behave”, she giggled out and used a hand to bang his mouth and nose and shove his wandering head back down on the pillow.

He chuckled through the palm of her hand, “Behave? Oh, little dancer, I have an etiquette to live up to. What sort of God of Mischief would I be if I behaved? Your argument is invalid”, he retorted and darted his devious tongue out to lick her fingers. She squealed and withdrew her hand, revealing at the same time that smug smile that reached his ears.

“Then how about...”, she said in a low voice, not entirely confident with her words, but wishing to utter them despite it, “... how about behave... for now”.

How many emotions overtook his face was impossible for her to count. Through his eyes, passed a green wickedness, which at first started dancing wildly and then escaped his irises and conquered the wrinkled corners as he squinted at her, reading, assessing, evaluating if she meant it or not. It was almost visible, like his magic. Like the green flames that erupted from his hands. Then the fire died down and a quite different expression took over, an expression that accepted the challenge with no care over the complications. And then the decisiveness was called away and a soft, understanding gaze took its place. He raised a hopeful eyebrow and his lips parted. A slight nod followed that melted her heart and made her remember once again his words. _I'd do anything. I'd be anything._ No matter how long it took. No matter how much more patient he had to be. This man underneath her, had now, this second, been filled with exquisite amounts of hopefulness and needfulness for a more intimate relationship in the future, a type of bond that she craved more than life itself, but was clueless as to how to hint or initiate it, without embarrassing words getting in the way. They stared at each other with wistful gazes, yearning to participate in events which hadn't yet taken place. _If only I could open my mouth and speak_... But she only nodded back, just slightly for him to see it and let the corners of her lips twitch up in a little smile of resignation.

He reached up and removed her hands from the headboard, without losing contact with her eyes, and entwined their fingers, urging her to seek support in this new grip. Filling the spaces between his fingers with her own, she swayed at first, her knees wobbly, but soon she regained her balance and nodded to let him know she was alright up there.

“Not so graceful now, huh?”, she joked.

 

“I disagree”.

He drew her hands closer to his face, cautiously and with no rush, and brought them to his mouth to kiss them. His eyes closed tightly, a deep, almost pained, crease darkening between his brows, as he brushed his lips over each knuckle, silently thanking her for her permission, in his own special way. A way that didn't involve words that confused her, or little enigmas that had her doubting his motives. In that moment, when she looked down at their hands and saw the slight bend of her fingers, as she supported her weight on him, the black leather wrapped around his pale wrist, still, after all this time, and the whitened spots where his lips met the fragile bones underneath her skin, she knew. She knew that they would end up just as she imagined them. Inside each other. Like she had said the night before. Imprisoned, but free. And once that happened, they would be powerless, blind and deaf to do anything about it. Ultimate intimacy.

“What time is it?”, he asked, as he settled her hands on either side of his neck and let his own fall back on her spread thighs.

“Actually, I have no idea”, she shook her head and took a quick glimpse at the clock above the bed, “Hm. Who would have thought? It's five. In the afternoon”. She informed and smirked down at him, running her thumbs over the sharp lines of his jaw, “We have slept for at least twelve hours”.

“Sleep is never enough”, was all he replied, closing his eyes to enjoy her touch.

Andrea giggled, “You know, for a God, you're really lazy”.

“Only when there's a beautiful woman sitting on top of me”, he said, cocking an eyebrow at her, smirking suggestively.

She laughed and shook her head to emphasize the disbelief, “Oh, please. Just admit that you like sleeping”.

He shrugged, but the eyebrow stayed in place, “I like sleeping with you”.

“Yeah, right”.

“Whatever you say, little one”, he shrugged again, good heartedly, the devious smile now larger.

She scrunched up her nose at him, pulling a funny face that made him giggle, and then turned her head to the side to gaze out the window at the snowy rooftops of the other buildings, each of a different size and height. A full white teeth smile stretched across her face at the peaceful sight of snowflakes falling, some of them being rescued by the swirls of the wind and some others meeting the inevitable end, melting against the double glass of the large windows and sliding down to wet the frame. Loki thought to himself that it was the kind of smile that unavoidably triggers your own and so, stripped of his control at the image of her, so content on top of him, he let his own lips stretch widely.

As he lay under her, engulfed in the warmth of her naked thighs and drunk on the perfume of arousal and night sweat emanating from between them, he pondered over how peculiar a creature she was. From the scared, embarrassed, doomed woman, dancing on a stage with little coverage with the intention of earning a month's pay, startled by the whistles of the men and flinching from their unexpected attentions, she had moved on to being so much freer, if not entirely fearless. She now danced in the rhythm of her own heart and followed the choreography with grace, elegance, playfulness, traits which hadn't been directed at him from their first encounter. He felt like he had earned them. Like he had fought for them and that he somehow deserved the pleasure of being the only man to see her like this.

She wanted to appear intimidating and to aspire fear and make no mistake, when she furrowed those bushy eyebrows of hers and stared with big black eyes, people took a step back instinctively or unintentionally, but with him, - him who had battled against all the times she had tried to make him go away-, she was an angel, a fair example being this very moment. A misunderstood creature of divinity and otherworldly beauty that yearned for attention or she would perish in the cold and cruel hands of the ignorant and the naïve. So full of contradictions she was that more often than not, he caught himself thinking that she might as well be an illusionist, just like himself. Casting clones of herself, different versions to throw people off and to mess their heads up so that they would never find out who she really is. _Mother would approve._

His little dancer had come such a long way, pushing, as much as she could, the scared kitten aside and bringing out the dangerous panther to play, but there were still many miles to be walked. He couldn't hold back the waves of pride that coursed through him though. He was responsible, at least a little, for her newfound bravery and reawakened stubbornness. He had brought something inside her back to life. It was obvious, one could notice it with the naked eye, how she had changed.

All his life, things usually died around him, Odin had said so once, before he'd sentenced him to the dungeons. Wherever he went, there was pain and loss and death, but not this time. This time someone flourished and bloomed by his side. Like a cherry tree in a graveyard. It was an endearing thought. Eerie, but in an extraordinary way. And it was so due to his work and dedication. She was his tree. His woman. His purpose. And he was cultivating and caring for her, helping her grow with water and sun.

“Loki...”, she called suddenly, her still groggy voice, apologetic, “... I just can't stop thinking about it... I'm sorry about yesterday... I just... sorry for yelling at you on the bed, I didn't mean-”.

“Shh”, he interrupted.

“But... it... it shames me, please...”.

“Why does it shame you? You got angry. Why do you think you owe me apologies?”.

“I don't know.. I just... my ''angry' isn't like other peoples' and... I... had to... sorry. I don't... I don't know what to say”.

“You don't know what to say because there's nothing that needs saying. If there was we would already be discussing it. Instead, you can tell me what you want to do today. Don't fuzz over the past”, he suggested in a quiet tone and while waiting for his instructions he ran a fingertip up and down her leg, from apex thigh to knee and back up again, until her skin erupted in goose flesh. She blinked and nodded at him, indicating his being right about it all.

“So what do you want? Tell me”, he urged.

“I'm not sure”, she answered honestly, bright eyes glued to the whiteness outside, shivering pleasantly under his delicate touch.

Truth was she hadn't given it much thought. She didn't know what they could do today, tomorrow or how they would generally spend the holidays. She wouldn't be going back home, that was certain. The mere idea was laughable and even if she was given the chance, she wouldn't take it. She much more preferred to stay with Loki and teach him how to properly roast a turkey rather than go back to her family and eat it from her mother's hands, which truly, said a lot about Christmas at home.

Another essential fact to be considered was that apart from his obsession with sleeping and unconsciously rut against her, reading and eating her omelettes or healing her with self-made lineaments or watching her dance, making wine in some secret cellar and showering much too often, she wasn't aware of any other potential interests he might have, hence, she felt uncomfortable going ahead and throwing random ideas in the hopes that perhaps one would appeal.

 _Must be really cold outside_ , she thought for no particular reason, but it somehow made her remember the day of their first real conversation. At the coffee shop, at the table by the wooden framed window. White winter hadn't arrived, like it had now, but the remnants of autumn had made it a chilly afternoon. That was the first page of the book, where casual dialogue, even short and awkward had been written down between the characters of an unexpected story arch, a story that had already reached its first tragic peak. Until then, there had been inquisitive gazes and enigmatic smiles and unfamiliar tension, strange closeness even when they were apart and, _you know it's rude not to look at someone in the eye,_ in that bass teasing voice, whose vibration reminded you of when the needle of the pickup makes contact for the first time with the vinyl disk. And then the music begins. The chapter starts.

She gave him a quick glance, noticing that his eyes were still glued to her face. She blushed and looked to the side again. A plan had begun to form in her mind, but she wasn't sure if they could actually do it. It just didn't seem to abide with his style, what with how reclusive he was and how he took pleasure in intimidating everyone on the street in order to draw them away from her. She enjoyed it quite a lot when they walked together towards the University and all unsuspecting men suddenly cowered and took several steps back. She made it even better with casting her scowls and angry glares at them. It was like a joke they shared, she and him. Their own anti-social social club. But today, surprisingly enough, it wasn't what she wanted.

There was an overgrowing need blooming inside her to be sweet and kind and gentle and delicate and walk beside him as if they were... a couple. A couple that did as it pleased and offered no explanations to anyone. But there was another part inside her, one that suggested it was best to keep herself in his good graces, a part which doubted he would say yes to such an idea. It was a small nameless part, that was, but the insecurity that festered there, was bigger than her willingness to open her mouth and just spit it out.

“Maybe we could stay inside”, she said instead, busying herself with counting the snowflakes. That way she might sound more casual and uncaring. “I could cook. We could read or just go back to sleep. I guess”. She nodded, faking reassurance as best as she could. “It would be nice”.

Loki chuckled and it sounded almost malicious to her ears and when she looked down at his face, his eyebrows were both cocked upwards. The smile was lethal and his cheekbones seemed sharper than usual. It was the expression he assumed when he knew she was talking bullshit.

“Liar”, was all he said, his voice low and seductive, its timbre somehow matching the deadliness of the smile.

“I'm not-”.

“Yes you are”.

“No”.

“Yes”.

“How do you-”.

“You never look me in the eye when you lie. And you've only done that once before. This time, I don't have your sexy bra hanging from my index, but I doubt you need the same encouragement as you did back then to tell the truth”.

Andrea bit her lip, briefly reminiscing the incident he was referring to. The red balconette seemed to have had an important impact in their relationship, that much she could tell. He remembered it vividly, didn't he?

“You're one for tiny details, aren't you?”, she muttered shyly.

“They're not tiny. And they're not details, little dancer”, he argued, “I relish in observing you. And you relish in being observed”.

The furious blush was back on her cheeks and she had to blink away from him to find her composure. Was there anything, anything at all that escaped his notice?

“Tell me what you want”, he pressed, although there was no urgency in his tone.

She took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on his face to check for any probable signs of aversion, discomfort, discouragement, distaste of any kind. She stammered, “I was... I was just wondering... if you would be... willing to... to go out with me, like out, as in... not for a walk, but... go somewhere for something. Something simple”, she paused and bit her lip, eyes wide and innocent to sweeten the deal, “I just want to show you off and make people jealous, what can I say?”.

The minute she was finished with her suggestion, he patted her thigh gently and nodded a couple of times, as if all was nice and dandy, as if she hadn't lied to him in the first place. As if her idea wasn't stupidly romantic and girly and unacceptable. Even the smugness faded away from his face, a wide grin taking its place, a grin that for a brief moment made her brain go ballistics with the millions of possibilities, before he opened his sensual pinky lips, his voice dripping with either sheer honesty or tantalising sarcasm. She found herself bamboozled as to which was the case.

“There, there. Was that so hard?”.

She furrowed her brows and tilted her head to the side, as if not quite understanding, but before she had the chance to ask him if he was mocking her, his voice turned dead serious.

“How about Three Cinnamon Sticks? Best coffee in Edinburgh, if I have any say in it. And it makes your atrocious cappuccino too. And it's also the ideal place to watch the snow from the windows and remember how you once drooled over my brother and his romantic thunderstorms. And...”, he paused for a moment, his hand coming up, under her shirt, to lay flat on her stomach and belly. She shivered from the sudden warmth and the instant realisation that he was inches away from her breasts made her heart speed up, “... it gives me the chance to stuff you with lemon cakes and strawberry pies and marshmallows...”, he continued, licking his lips, his voice shifting to dreamy and hazy towards the end. But what was even dreamier than that was his eyes. Dark, lustful, as if he had suggested something much dirtier than sugary cakes, “What do you say, little dancer?”.

Her mouth was suddenly very dry and she felt quite stupid when she realised that it was due to it hanging open, the space underneath her tongue filled with saliva that was on the verge of spilling out and landing onto Loki's sternum. She didn't know how much time might have passed until she finally closed it, swallowing hard to force his words to sink in. For some reason, her mind wasn't cooperating with the rest of her body and the thought that Loki saying phrases like, '' atrocious cappuccino'' and ''lemon cakes'', should have its own aesthetic board, suddenly made her smile so widely that she must have looked like a maniac. She laughed excitedly, something between a gasp and a wale squeal that must have made Loki reconsider her mental state, but wasting no more time, she braced herself on his chest and pressed him down on the mattress for balance. She jumped off him, making the bed bounce, rolled off and got up, already heading to the closet on her tip toes, her mind going crazy with what to wear and how fast she could apply her favourite soft lip balm.

She had one foot over the threshold when Loki shouted after her, as if he had heard her thoughts, “Wear my sweater. I want to see you in it”.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and graced him with a smile and a playful, “Yes Sir”, before disappearing into the little room, shutting the door behind her.

Loki sat speechless on the bed, wondering that if coffee and the promise of sweets with him made her this euphoric, he should have asked her out sooner. In all honesty, his reluctance to go out with her in public still weighted heavily upon his shoulders. People were quick to put two and two together and cause her trouble. It had already happened once, resulting in that self-consuming anger to take hold and reign over her completely. He didn't want it to happen again. He didn't want to have to stop it again, not because it was getting annoying having to help her restore control, but because it pained him that she got like that in the first place. Being seeing with him and judged, labelled for it, made her sadness transform into a rage so dangerous and toxic. And as always, he assumed the burden, the fault, on his own accord, even though it wasn't.

But the conversation they had last night had been enlightening and had proved that she was willing to go all the way, just as much as he was, surrender completely to what this was between them or ignore it and forever hold their peace. They wouldn't back down and they would certainly not allow anyone to shame and objectify the bond they shared. _No one will take me away from you_ , she had said, _free but sort of imprisoned inside each other... and we're not letting go... that's what I understand._

The little dancer came out of the closet, wearing his sweater and striding hastily towards the bathroom with an almost comical urgency, as if somehow she had lost favour with time. He could watch her all day, going about her business around the house, picking up things, putting them down, cooking, studying and much more, while he laughed to tears from his position on the bed. But today plans were different and so, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands, he abandoned the bed and went to get dressed.

 

He decided on something quite casual and quite befitting of the human clothing etiquette, begrudgingly admitting to himself that the tiny, puny mortal beings knew what they were doing when they made every piece so elastic and flexible. It was indeed much easier to walk around and get things done in jeans and sweaters than in different variations of his armour, as it had been back in Asgard. And yet, after two years of blending in with this race and trying to adjust to their habits and ways, he also had to admit that he still missed the rubbing of the rough leather or the heaviness of the metal. They had been part of him since childhood, those black training pants and comfortable tunics, used during his training with wooden swords and daggers. And his helmet, earned in his adulthood, crafted by capable hands and polished each and every day, worn on great celebrations and manipulated even as a weapon in battle, was sorely missed as well.

He raised his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror, as he adjusted the grey wool around his neck and shoulders, reminiscing older times and trying to remember who he had once been. Just then, Andrea's figure appeared on the glass, sneaking in the closet and opening a wardrobe door to get something. He watched her with a smirk on his face through the mirror, as she bent down and retrieved what looked like the most beautiful pair of leather riding boots.

Slowly, he turned around, appreciation and yearning for this woman and her style burning bright in his eyes, and made his way towards her. He was careful not to startle her too much, since she seemed to be running in different speeds than him this afternoon, and when he got close enough he reached down and picked up one shoe to admire it closely. He turned it around in his hands, feeling the thick texture of the leather against his skin, lifting it up to the light bulb hanging from the ceiling to observed the shininess of the material. Its design was delicate, feminine and lengthy, but fierce and practical nonetheless and from its size and height, he guessed that they were a perfect fit for his dancer's long legs.

“My, my, these are beautifully made, little one”, he muttered, as he ran his fingertips over the leather.

If he hadn't spoken, perhaps Andrea wouldn't have noticed him at all, what with all her haste to get ready as fast as possible, before he probably changed his mind about today's activities. So when the praising words echoed in close vicinity to her and his lithe, ghostly form appeared in her peripheral view, she slightly jumped and blushed and thanked him with eyes cast down.

He seemed to like the way she dressed, thinking that by now she would have been used to his compliments about her elegance and complexity in simplicity, but the manner in which his eyes shone as he raked them over her boot made her feel bashful all over again. _This man has his ways,_ she pondered, a little light-headed and queasy on the stomach.

“I'm glad you like them. They're my favourite pair, I think. Not... not that I have many, but... yeah. I bought them when I was sixteen”, she waved her hand in front of her face, as if dismissing the memory, and looked down at the other boot on the floor, “Had been saving for over a year in order to get them”.

“They sure look expensive. Why buy them on your own? Could've asked your parents”, he commented, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. Her face fell for a bit, as if she was remembering something she'd rather forget, but then she smiled at him, shrugging, pretending like it was unimportant. His hips parted hastily, preparing an apology, but just then she spoke.

“Yeah, well, I did ask my mum, but when I showed them to her she didn't like them. She decided that they wouldn't suit me and so they stayed in the shop. But...”, she smiled again and shifted her weight from one foot to another, “... well, I'm a little whiny, stubborn kid in the heart, so one day, coming from school, I went by the shop and found the saleswoman. I asked if she could keep them for me with a small payment in advance. Initially she said... that she could only keep them for two weeks and then the owner of the shop would send them off. I... wouldn't be able to have the money in two weeks time though, so I told her it was okay and went to leave, but... but she must have recognised me from the other time I'd been there, or she must have remembered the tantrum my mother threw outside the shop, because she... ahm...”, she paused and attempted to meet his eyes, but there was this look in his face, the look people assume when they are trying to hide their pity, but unfortunately it seeps through. It wasn't his fault, of course. She was being pathetic and emotional and she knew it. But he had asked, and so he should listen. _That's how it goes with personal stuff, buddy_ , she chastised, casting her gaze down at her feet, “... she offered to buy them on my behalf and... so that I... when I finally got the money needed, I could buy them from her. And... that's how it happened. A lot of drama for a pair of boots, huh? Still though... thumbs up for the kindness of strangers”, she added, trying to lighten the mood with joking, but she was never particularly good with jokes, so her attempt sounded as dramatic as the retelling of the memory.

 _The kindness of strangers_ , Loki repeated inwardly, lowering his own gaze as well. He hated that phrase. He hated this simple unwritten law under which that woman had survived and acquired things from such a young age. He hated it, because it seemed as if only strangers had actually paid her any mind. First, that saleswoman when she'd been a little sixteen year old girl, simply wanting something nice for her wardrobe. Secondly, her international advisor who had helped her with her papers and with her apartment and with her adjustment in this city and who was still worrying about and looking out for her, even if the manner in which she did it was intrusive and impolite. Thirdly, as much as he loathed to admit it, kindness had been offered to her by that pathetic excuse of a man, the club's manager. He had taken pity on her and given her a job so that she could earn a living, if one could call it as such. And lastly, himself. He had been a stranger as well, offering to take her in, help her, give her the safety and reassurance she so desperately needed, an embrace that she thankfully wasn't any more hesitant to throw herself into. He was a stranger, who, on second thought, had been helped by strangers too. Hadn't Odin been a stranger when he picked up a little blue and cold infant from the steep rock? He was. The only difference was that his kindness was coated with the intent to keep him as a weapon. A probable tool he could use for peace treaties when he fell out of favour with Jotunheim. Perhaps, he had even planned to marry him off to some icy damsel from that forsaken place to appeal to Laufey's pride and sweeten the deal. No. Strangers hadn't been kind to him, but he was glad that they've been to Andrea, in whatever extent.

“That's what makes them so special though”, he said, “The journey they've had before they ended up being yours, darling”.

She gave him a sweet half smile, cheering up a little with his comment. She was glad he hadn't said anything about her struggle to obtain them, or about the humiliation she went through with having to accept another woman buying them for her. He was being practical and for that she was grateful. He took facts as facts, stripping them off emotional entanglement so that she didn't feel uncomfortable about spilling them out in the first place.

“Yeah, I suppose you're right. The... gratification was... huge, when I finally held them”.

He nodded, chuckling, “I bet it was. And look at the leather. Admirable that it's utterly intact after four years. Must be of a truly good quality”.

Andrea pressed her lips together and buried her fingers in her back pockets, ready to argue, “Well, the leather is good, for sure, but... that's not the reason they're intact”.

He looked up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes darting from the boot in his hands to her rosy face, curiously, until realisation finally hit him.

“You've never worn them”.

Andrea shook her head, lips still pressed together.

“Why?”, he inquired, genuinely curious.

“It didn't feel right. I... I didn't feel ready for them”.

“How so?”, he asked, taking a step forward.

Her eyes shot up to meet his, the hairs at the nape of her neck standing up, electrified by that single step that limited the distance between them. She thought hard about how to express this in a way that made sense, but truthfully, it was kind of irrational. After a whole year of saving for that pair, she had finally had them in her hands, but had never put them on, not even once. It wasn't just because she didn't want her mother to see them on her feet. That was the epiphanic reason, but there was something deeper to it. Something more righteous behind her decision to leave them in their box for so long.

“Were you born with your helmet on your head?”, she finally phrased, a little unsure.

He furrowed his brows deeper, so much so that the crease in between became black, “No. Of course not. I...”, but then it started to make some kind of sense, “I earned it”.

She bowed her head slightly and unburied her hands from her pockets to tuck some strands of hair behind her ears. When she looked up at him again there was confirmation in her eyes.

 _There we go again_ , he thought with sadness. _There she goes, thinking again that she doesn't deserve things_...

“Why would you think you hadn't earned them? Saving for over a year in order to acquire them wasn't enough of a hardship to make you worthy of wearing them?”.

She shook her head, “Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. I was young. I had lots of poetic ideas in my head at the time about surviving through things and... treating myself afterwards with something that mattered. Those boots... they didn't have meaning at the time. I just wanted them because they looked nice. I hadn't done something great to deserve them. I just thought they would look good on me. But I don't really have space in my life for things that have no use... or meaning. That's how... how I'm wired. I might have been sixteen but I... I vowed not to wear them until I've gone through enough in my life to earn them. And I think...”, she paused, turning her head to the side and gathering her delicate hands in front of her chest, fingers playing with the neck of the sweater, “... I think I have... now”.

Loki stared at her for a moment, trying to decide which feeling felt the heaviest at the centre of his chest. Disbelief of how headstrong she was or appreciation for her iron resolve? _I don't really have space in my life for things that have no use... that's how I'm wired..._

“You've been too hard on yourself. You still are”, he muttered, more to himself than to her. Holding the boot in one hand, he reached out and caress her cheek with the other. He smiled when she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes to enjoy it all the more. But despite her sweet surrender, all he could think about was if, somewhere inside her, her heart, her brain, whatever, she had found a use for him.

“Well, my Greek ancestors were cruel, barbarian warrior kings who threw babies in the river if they were born weak. So... I guess harshness is in my genes or something”, she informed, her shoulders shaking a bit from the chuckle that escaped her.

Loki's lips parted in confusion as he continued to caress from her cheekbone to her jaw. Briefly searching through the knowledge he had about her home country and reminiscing all the books he had read about it and its customs, he pieced together the information and soon figured it out.

He found her smiling eyes and held her gaze, as he asked, the question voiced more as a realisation, “You're from Sparta?”.

The corners of her mouth twitched up into a suggestive smile, “Your education will never cease to amaze me”.

Loki chuckled, “Thor had his hammer. I had my books”.

She laughed weakly, “I thought I had mentioned it. Where I'm from”.

He shook his head negatively, “No, I knew you were from Greece in general. However Greece has many cities. You never mentioned which one you were from specifically. But now that I know...”, his voice dropped lower and he winked at her, “... a lot of things make sense”.

“Yeah, well don't worry. I am not going to throw my babies in the river if they can't grow up to be warriors”, the statement had them both giggling stupidly, but soon, Andrea got hold of herself and continued speaking, her voice considerably lower and shier.

“I think that... throughout history... people there lived very simply and very... I don't know how to say it without sounding biased or superstitious, but even today, they might sometimes give you the feel that they are truly descented from warriors. They are opinionated and rough, at least some of them. Have a very specific way of thinking. As if they are following steps. Orders. Not all of them, of course. Just some. I wasn't like that, but it seems that... now that I'm in another land... I think I... sort of summoned it from deep within me”, she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Perhaps that is indeed the case. If it is, roughness only adds to your beauty. And strength of opinion simply compliments your maturity. That fight in you, that's what matters. It's all you've got at the end of the day. And besides...”, he voiced boldly with a bright, wicked smirk darkening his face, “... I wouldn't want a woman with no spirit in her. No dominance. In plain words, I want you harder when you're feisty”.

Her cheeks caught fire at the sound of that and all of a sudden, his knuckles against her skin felt like wooden sticks being added to the pyre set up underneath the surface of her flesh. Either he was devious like that or she was too shy to fathom such direct praises. No one had ever admired her straight forwardness or her sense of toughness. No one had ever thought that it was a great addition to her beauty, if there was any beauty in her to begin with. But Loki seemed to somehow see it and when he phrased it, he made her believe in it despite all the insecurity. He could read people, gaze straight through them and uncover their darkest aspects without them even knowing that he did it. Andrea could sometimes sense him watching her, even when she had her back to him, but he wasn't simply staring. He was thinking, frantically, urgently. He was trying to crack her code, understand her deeper, something which she both dreaded and anticipated greatly. And now with just a simple compliment, she felt him breaking through once again, breeching that part of her that she kept shut, out of fear that nobody would ever comprehend it. But his eyes burned bright and his smile left no room to argue that he liked it. He liked that part, at least he liked the glimpses he caught at it and to her surprise, he wasn't backing away. He kept looking at her, right through her, penetrating the green of her irises with his blue ones to figure out what she was thinking, how she was thinking, why she was even thinking right now.

And then, as soon as he would begin this cracking procedure of his, he would end it. Did he fear discovery? Did he want to simply urge her on the end of the cliff and then let her hang in there as a lesson for her stubbornness to keep her wishes quiet? Was he attempting to teach her that her inability to open up herself left him helpless in his quest to understand her? Was he trying to raise her guilt, or her awareness?

“May I have the honours?”, he said, breaking the silence and gazing down at the black boot in his hand. He was already lowering himself to one knee when her brain started to work again and figure out what he wanted to do. She heard the zipper of the boot being pulled down and she looked at his crouched form, his eyes now soft and almost pleading, dark eyebrows raised in silent anticipation. Before she had the chance to think it through, she was nodding her acceptance.

She lifted her left leg just slightly, whilst placing a hand on his shoulder to balance herself. He wasted no more time and with his free hand he gently guided her foot, by the back of the ankle, into the riding boot. Making sure that if fitted perfectly and that the sole of her foot lay flat and comfortable inside, he began to slowly zip the boot up, passing by her calf and bend of the knee, until the shoe completely engulfed her leg, fully zipped up.

Andrea stared down at him as he ran a full open palm over the outer side of the boot, feeling its soft slickness and inhaling the raw scent of the unworn leather. Under her hand, his shoulder was tense from the deep breath he had taken and his eyes were shut tight, as if he was experiencing mind blowing pleasure. She noted that never had the putting on of shoes looked hotter than in this moment.

“Remember the night I fixed your jacket?”, he suddenly asked, making her blink in confusion.

“Yes”.

A quite ramble reverberated through his chest and escaped his lips in the sound of a low menacing chuckle that hit her right between the legs.

“You do have a kink, don't you?”, was all he said as he took the other boot in his hands and unzipped it carefully.

 _Yes, fuck me, yes I do_ , she screamed inside, but kept this thought to herself.

“It's soft... you know how I am with soft things”, she said instead, struggling to push back naughty thoughts of leather gloves, jackets... belts... cuffs...

He slipped her foot inside, similarly to the way he did before, and dragged the zipper up, securing the boot around her endless leg. Once it was done, his hands roamed again over the material, breathing it in deeply. The way his lips parted, as if he wished to taste the scent, and the manner in which he treated her calf made her clench her nether regions tightly, her eyes stuck on his beautifully dark and long lashes and the pained wrinkles on his forehead. When she relaxed that part of her and let go with a short breath and a sniff, she was mortified to discover that a flood of slick, honeyed wetness had been unleashed from the walls of her core. It slid down her petals tantalizingly slow, until it reached the thin fabric of her panties and sufficiently soaked them through. Her lashes flattered nervously. She did her best not to look down at him. Her breathing began to come out a bit labored from the attempt at keeping herself calm, eyes stubbornly stuck on a random spot on the carpeted floor. And yet the true mortification came, when his hand slowly stopped caressing the leather. He tilted his head to the side, like a curious dog, catching whiffs of different things in the air, identifying them, putting them into simplistic categories that would enable its animal brain to remember them for later use. 

Even though Andrea was on a higher position she was certain of the smirk she saw, spreading out across his face like a threatening omen of actions yet to come. Like a little warning sign of acknowledgment. He knew. He knew what had just happened, what her body had done without her permission. It would be impossible not to know, even without his enhanced senses. His head was so close to her crotch area, sniffing as discreetly as possible, until it found the particular womanly scent he was looking for and she was powerless to stop him from doing it. If something wild, primitive and ancient was to break free inside him right this moment, a simple turning of his head would be enough for him to shove his face between her legs and a quick motion of his hands upwards, all it would take to keep her in place. And the most alarming fact of this strangely erotic situation, was that if he did any of that, if he lost control, if he decided to push her against the closet door, pull her jeans down along with her soaked panties, spread her thighs with his leather scented hands and suck his way into her womb, she wouldn't lift a finger to shove him away.

She couldn't help herself now but look at him intensely. Observe his every movement in fear. Or was it expectation? His eyelashes flattered, but she couldn't see his eyes, his head was lowered. That was the scariest thing of them all. Everything showed in his eyes and now she had no access to them. She felt his hand snake up and settle behind her knee, drawing it closer to him slowly, as he drew in deep breaths, his shoulders haunching and relaxing, tensing and easing. He rested his forehead for just a brief moment on her knee. The contact made her shiver through her jeans, her mind going crazy with scenarios of what would happen next. Was she scared or excited? Did she want him to do this to her or not? Nothing was clear. Nothing was definite. Why so much confusion over such a simple, basic desire? 

But instead of the heavily infused with the smells of arousal and unadulterated passion fantasy, she received a gentle tap against her calf and a clearing of his throat. She watched him get up, standing in full height in front of her and smiling a condescending, understanding smile that made her want to either punch him in the face for leaving her flabbergasted and frustrated, bombarded with so many urges that she couldn't reign in, or kiss him deeply for being such a gentleman and keeping to his word to not coerce her into things.

“I'll be in the living room”, he announced, the timbre in his voice thick with smokiness and the smile on his lips turning zany. He paced by her and she turned around to watch him as he went. He glanced at her over his shoulder, keeping her gaze for a few agonizing seconds, allowing the fierce idea that he was going to turn back around and finish what he'd started to invade her mind, before he hummed, winked, faced away from her and walked out the closet, like the boss he knew he was.

She stood there for a minute or so, completely frozen on the spot, in the middle of the room, not quite believing what had just commenced. The efforts of seduction were officially on and she caught herself foolishly anticipating the next one with great urgency.

Immobile and wet in the walk-in closet, she came to the conclusion that he was indeed the God of Mischief and that he had used his cunning to coax a reaction out of her. A reaction that he was certain she would give. He had knelt between her legs before, when he'd healed her and she could vividly remember herself, remember her body acting with such wantonness and need for more of his touch, for more of his cold salves against her skin, but now it was different. The slickness in her pussy, the slight trembling of her limbs when she realized that he was leaving her here, alone and untouched, confirmed his scheme. No smile of recognition this time adorned his wicked, sharp face, as he tilted his head to the side to catch the scent better. No. This time he  _smirked_ . He smirked because he expected the reaction. He expected the arousal, her heaving chest, her quiet frustration and need for acts, sexual acts she couldn't bring herself to ask for. Not yet, at least. He knew this would happen to her, he knew she ached, so why had he stopped? Did he need verbal consent? Did he want her to say it loud and clear in order to proceed? Had he done it on purpose? Was this a punishment for not being straight forward with him? She was with everyone else. Why couldn't she be with him too? 

_Playful dick_ , _ignorant swine, cruel bastard_ , she thought, trying to force herself into getting angry with him, but failing miserably. 

 


	24. who we were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Andrea go on their first, official date and as a result they get to know one another a little bit better. Secrets will be spilled and stories from home will leave both of them speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there everyone! Our story picks up right after the boot incident in the closet and may I be honest about this chapter... I don't like how I wrote the beginning. I feel like I'm using the same vocabulary over and over again and that is okay when you're writing action, but you can't get away with it when you're describing mental things, feelings, motives or when you analyze thoughts. I think that in that case one should use a plethora of new words and unfortunately, I don't have that kind of vocabulary. I'm trying to expand it, but it's quite difficult when you are not a native speaker. So, please have patience with me, I'm trying. I'm actually all over tumblr posts these days with vocabulary for young writers. You know ''what to say instead of'', ''how to describe tone of voice'' and such. Anyway, apart from that I loved the stories I wrote for them! I think they were on point and definitely enough for the time being. How do you feel about what Andrea shared? Come on, give me opinions!! 
> 
> **As always, all pictures are burrowed from the web so their rights belong to their respective owners. You know it but I recently learned that if a picture does not belong to me, I'm obliged to mention it every time, even though I've written it in the notes in previous chapters. First picture is the outfits of the couple, you know I insist in closet eheeh, please ignore the girl, just look at the boot. This is exactly what I had in my mind, the design, the sole, the length... aghh perfect! Second picture is a street in Edinburgh which I actually passed by when I visited. So beautiful. Third and last picture is the interior of the coffee shop. 
> 
> The story about Skadi's wedding and Loki's part in it has been altered a little to fit context more appropriately, but if you'd like to check the original story, fell free to do so. 
> 
> The story about the snake incident, the one Thor tells in Thor Ragnarok, has also been altered a bit now that it's told from Loki's point of view. I've also added to it a bit in order to accentuate Loki's evilness. This version doesn't exist anywhere in the MCU. I made it up. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and gracing me with your lovely comments! When it comes to my writing and the impact it's got on you, I am feeling truly blessed! Have a good read! See you next Thursday folks!

Promptly after the events of the closet, the pair walked on the pavement in silence, apart from the occasional giggle, when the staring contest they liked to engage into, got to its weirdest level.

The clean white snow and salt crunched angrily under their feet, but the sound was but for one moment drowned out by some kind of band, dressed in kilts and traditional Scottish costumes, that blew on bagpipes, supposedly playing cacophonous Christmas songs. The couple had to pace a little faster upon encounter to get away from the screeching noise of the instruments, before it gave them both a heart attack or before Andrea burst out in rage and threw a brick at the band members to silence them.

The temperature was low, perhaps below zero, and there was no wind or snow fall at the moment. Only hard and unyielding cold that penetrated the skin like a myriad of little pointy pins and needles, set one making the few people walking on the streets to shiver and clutter their teeth violently, even though they were bundled in layers and layers of heavy clothing, like fat onions.

Loki of course didn't even flinch from the exposure to the cold and was comfortably pacing alongside his little dancer, while enjoying the coolness of the climate against his sharp angled face. With delight he noted that Andrea took well to the low temperature, not minding to go out without gloves or a scarf to conceal and warm the naked bits of skin on her neck and hands. Underneath her statement grey coat, she wore his black sweater, the one with the bunched up layers around the neck and shoulders, the one that he had given her freely to keep, that morning, when they'd parted ways to make their decisions. 

 

The sudden emergence of the memory saddened him. He didn't want to look back at those moments of bitter separation and remember the loneliness and abandonment he had felt away from her, without even the freedom to watch her from somewhere afar. Longingly, he put his arm around her waist and tugged her closer, hugging her tightly against his side, as if to remind himself that she was here and wouldn't go anywhere. She returned the embrace by wrapping her long arms around his middle, one hand locking on his side and the other sliding up inside his black coat to roam over his chest and stomach, rubbing at him absentmindedly, as if intent on warming him up against the tough cold. The gesture was so endearing and motherly, in some sense, that he kissed the top of her head and smiled an almost boyish smile in thanks.

Her sweetness almost made him feel a tad guilty about the mischievous trick he had pulled on her earlier this afternoon. Well, almost. At first it had been just for a little bit of fun, to unsettle her, get her hot and bothered, distract her, whichever came first anyway, but the moment his hands touched the leather boot and the back of her delicate ankle, things took an unexpected turn. He heard it, although it was barely audible, since the sound of workings that commenced inside a body were the most difficult to catch, despite his enhanced abilities, but it was there. One minute he was caressing the side of her calf, making her clench the muscles between her legs hard and the next thing he knew... an innocent swooshing sound of wetness, slick and enticingly accentuated by the scents of citrus and rum, as was her signature perfume, assaulted his nostrils, clouding his mind and making his cock twitch in sudden arousal against the confines of his trousers.

He didn't know why he'd suddenly felt the need for affirmation, of assertion of his dominance over her and of confirmation that she was indeed aroused by what _he_ was doing, not by some sort of random natural reaction to being so close to another body. It seemed important at the moment to obtain all these, even though he was more than aware of her wetness and readiness to be invaded at all times, when she was around him, either she wished it or not. She had absolutely no control over her bodily fluids every time they touched, or slept snuggled against each other, just as much as he didn't have any control over his loins, each time she danced or raked her hands over his chest or found that spot at the small of his back and  pressed it soothingly. 

Restoration of control had seemed almost unachievable when he'd glanced up at her, when she wasn't looking, to find her flustered and frustrated, trying to choke her heaving breaths so that it wouldn't become known how aroused and high she was. The heady smell of her womanhood, the odor of brand new untouched leather, her feeble attempts to put herself under reign, were all driving him towards an animalistic insanity, all working against his better judgment, all urging him to grab her by the hips, push her down and take her like a savage beast with no rational thought or way to tell between what's wrong and what's right.

_Just take her Laufeyson, she wont even put up a fight_ , the darker voice inside him had cooed in its expertly seductive tunes.  _Hold her down and claim her. Can't you see she wants it?_ , it had inquired devilishly, making him want to lick his lips, the saltiness of her cunt almost tangible in the air.  _All it takes is a little tear and she is yours..._

Yet at the last minute, something had put a stop to his pitch black desires. A quick reprimand of his conscious perhaps. A moment of hesitation during which he was reminded who he was dealing with. He knelt in front of a woman he adored and respected, not a meaningless whore that he could use and then throw away. Andrea was already his. Asserting control over her by forcing her into something they would both regret later, was preposterous and humiliating.

She didn't seem to be averse to the idea of being ravaged like that. Of letting an animal subjugate her, of taking complete control over her ability to move or speak, of stripping her off all thought of escaping. She wasn't against roughness or experiencing new things. New ways of touching was always something she indulged in, as far as he knew. But the difference between them was that he had tested his body in these acts before. He knew what he felt, when he felt it and why he felt it. Andrea was inexperienced in matters of the flesh and at that very moment, he doubted that she could tell for a certainty what was happening in her body and why it reacted like that to the prospect of being torn apart and put back together.

So far, his little dancer knew what she wanted only when she touched herself, in the manner she felt sure she enjoyed. She was by far no modest or prude woman. Her spirit was free of such chains, her body ready and willing to receive whatever treatment he subjected her to, but her heart... She wouldn't understand what was happening to her, _deep in her heart._ It would shock and confuse her and leave her with a mess of emotions and a long list of questions he wasn't sure he could answer in a comprehensible manner.

She was more susceptible to touch than most humans, she'd told him. A nerve in her brain was more sensitive than the rest and made her need for contact insurmountable. He had confirmed it himself. And thankfully, he'd helped her reach a point where she didn't shy away from taking what she wanted from him, the texture of his skin. A point where she sought him out on her own, in order to soothe the overload of her brain activity. And here he was now, thinking about tearing those jeans away from her hips and delving his tongue roughly into her virgin depths, with no care of how that would be interpreted by the nerves and cells of her body that were much needier and much more ticklish than any other person's. It felt wrong. It felt like taking advantage of a woman who firstly needed to be showed the slowness and kindness of sexuality and the acts it entailed. It felt like imposing his desires on a person who was not yet ready to understand them.

Maybe he was one step before losing control, but he was also headstrong about having her experience the capabilities of her body for the first time with care and playfulness. He wished for the opportunity to show her that he was as adept in gentleness and affection, as much as he was a master in the arts of roughness and utter domination. He needed these carnal experiences, the things he would do to her long, lean and strong body to take on an almost educational vibration and the willingness she would exhibit, to be an act of complete trust and thirst to learn, not a craving to soothe an ache and then be done with it.

And so for both of their sakes, he forced the animal back into its cage and left to wait for her on the damnable squeaky couch, struggling to convince himself that he did the right thing by abstaining, in spite of the efforts of the throbbing between his legs to get him back up on his feet and quickly into that little room.

“Shall we do anything about Christmas decorations?”, Andrea asked randomly after noticing how he had lost himself inside his own head. The urge to pull him out of there was too great to ignore.

“What?”, he asked, turning his head to the side to look at her behind squinted eyes.

She laughed, “You're miles away”, and repeated, “I said, Christmas decorations. For the house. Do you do that kind of thing?”.

He scoffed indignantly and easily slipped into the subject of conversation, “You forget. That's for another God”.

Andrea giggled, “That's true, actually”, and then asked on a quieter, more timid tone, “How did people celebrate you back then? Like, how did they worship you at the time?”.

Loki shrugged, “They butchered lambs, cut off chickens' heads, that sort of thing. And sometimes, when villages wanted something in particular, for example successful crops or for a family member to die so that they could benefit from the fortunes, they tied sweet little virgins on the trees and left them in the woods in the middle of winter for me to come and defile, as compensation”.

“What?!”, Andrea shrieked, snapping her head to the side to give him a horrified look. She wasn't so shocked as she sounded, more amused and disbelieving, but the moment she saw the wide grin on his face, she felt a little stupid on top of it all.

“Oh, nice. You're mocking me. Shame on you. For a minute I believed you, you know. Especially that last part about the poor virgins. It kind of struck home”. She gave him a hard shove on the chest to emphasize her point.

Loki chuckled loudly and kissed her temple fiercely, pretending in his mind that he was touching her lips, while she whined and tried to get away.

“You heathen”, she giggled out when he finally stopped.

As they turned around the corner, he began to explain his former status as a God, knowing that her curiosity couldn't be easily quenched once intrigued. “I was not celebrated or worshipped by many, little dancer. In most books and folklore I am the sly one. The Trickster. The God of Misrule and Chaos. The one, no man wants any dealings with. Perhaps the equivalent to Christianity's Devil. And as a matter of fact, I do have horns in my helmet, which makes me even more likely to be just that, a devil, at least according to common opinions and simple kin. The ones that did chant my name, once upon a time, and prayed to me were mostly criminals. Eager marauders, thieves and stranded spirits needing my blessing for their conquests, journeys, thieving expeditions. Others simply wishing for a deal that would end their sufferings, others truly sacrificing stock or firstborns to, supposedly, keep me content”, he huffed, smiling weakly as he remembered those times, back when people interpreted his tantrums and tirades as bad signs and did everything they could to satisfy and temper his rage. _Such foolish, foolish simpletons._

“Usually when noble men, humble families or royals, sitting at Odin's side referred to me, it was in a negative way. I was called upon last, when they were in need of help. The last solution. The... unwanted means to an end, even though they knew of my skill. My name was... uttered as a curse and an insult. My patronage...”, he paused for a moment, deciding on how to phrase this without remembering how everything had gone to hell after that particular revelation. “... my patronage was used as a motive for children to behave and do as they were told by their parents. I wasn't very likeable”.

He tried to fake a laugh to appear unaffected by his own truthful words, but as was expected, she saw right through him, but instead of telling him off for thinking of himself like that, as his mother had often done, she gave him a sympathetic look, stripped of pity or the false sense of understanding, but not really.

“I'm sorry”, she simply said.

“For what?”, he asked, confused.

“For how they saw you, I guess. It was cruel of them”.

He gradually slowed his pace and halted both of them in the middle of the pavement, slowly turning her towards him so that they stood chest to chest. One hand remained firmly placed on her waist, but the other sneaked out of his pocked to come up and tilt her chin upwards.

“Do not apologise on behalf of other people, my darling. They were not as well educated as you nor did they have your tender heart and sweetness. They were simple folk, driven by superstition, gossip and a lust to conquer and divide. They were nothing like you”.

“I know”, she assured him, nodding with her head, “I know that. I just...”. But the young woman couldn't find her words, no matter how much she tried, for perhaps it wasn't words that she needed to have him subjected to, but something quite different. Something she, herself, understood a little bit better.

Jerking her chin away from his gentle hold, she slipped her arms underneath his coat and brought him closer, using the strength of her hands to press him tighter against her body in a fierce, almost brutal embrace, voluntarily crashing her own lungs.

It was so unexpected that Loki almost flinched and drew his hands away from her. But as she squeezed him completely against her, with as much strength as she could gather in her human arms and as she nuzzled her face against his exposed neck, warming the naked skin with her breath, he realised how much he needed it. Her fierce, almost forceful touch and the ultimate contact with her body. Momentarily, he felt like a little kid again, trying to do anything for that one hug. Achieving in task after task, in order to get that one moment of affection from a father that never cared. Who could have told him back then that with patience and time, a woman, stronger than a warrior and more beautiful than a goddess, would cross paths with him to give him just that?

Her hold tightened again, like the gradual squeezing of a python around a prey's neck, but he didn't feel threatened or close to the brink of sweet death. He wrapped her in his arms as well, hands cradling her head and shoulders in a much gentler grip.

He dipped his head to the side, to find her ear among the loose strands of hair, and asked, “Why are you doing this?”.

“Two reasons”, she whispered against the wool of his sweater, the vibration of her voice penetrating his skin and somehow finding his heart.

“May I know them? Just in case we die here on this pavement from the frigid cold?”, he joked and she laughed against him, giving him more tingling sensations to cherish.

 

“One, I am terrible at saying how I feel. Two, you don't get enough hugs and I sometimes sense that you need them and you're not telling me”.

“Andrea, I-”.

“Shh”, she shushed and roamed her hands over his back muscles, wanting to soothe him, “Just... enjoy it. Okay?”.

He didn't say anything else. Only obeyed and buried his face in the crook of her neck, trying to welcome each electrifying emotion with caution and a twinge of suspicion, but as his body became warmer and as her heart started to bounce against his chest, loudly and with fierceness, he found himself tightening his arms, his fingers digging deeper and deeper into her shoulders, tangling and fisting themselves in her hair. A voice within the rotten walls of his mind instructed him to stop fighting, but he didn't know what that meant. Stop fighting meant surrender, surrender meant satisfaction and satisfaction... _didn't use_ to be in his nature.

Overcome by the need to mould himself inside her and suddenly _possessed_ by a little sickly looking boy that had grown up a long time ago, he shut his eyes and held his breath until his lungs gave out and he gasped, quietly, painfully, his breath landing where the hollow space above her collarbone should be under all these heavy clothes. All rebellion died, all wars ended, all the stress that escorts those two was deleted and he relaxed completely, for yet another time, in the arms of the woman who didn't say much, but whose actions spoke louder.

He knew that he should let go now, stop being childish, but he just kept holding, renewing the intensity of his grip, as if wishing to make sure that he wasn't hugging a phantom, but an actual person, solid and fleshly, bloody on the inside, with skin and bone and cloth to cover it. He savoured the touch of her hands in his back, where all the tension was resting, either inside the centuries trained muscles or between the ridges of his bones where all the guilt hid. Somehow she knew how to make it all go away. The pain this back bore, the scars that no one could see, the burdens he assumed without having to. She took it all away and turned it into ash, slowly and affectionately, bone by bone, bit of skin by bit of skin, in the middle of a frozen pavement, that was.

“Thank you”, he whispered, unchaining the vulnerability and letting it coat his tone like never before. He didn't see himself saying it. He saw that young boy, that pale, thinner than all the others boy who did magic in his secret workshop to avoid discovery. _An_ _Odinson_.

When they finally disentangled their arms from around each other's bodies and began to walk again, he was substantially lighter in the head, a half smirk plastered over his face in recognition of what had commenced inside him that made him so... soft. His eyes kept darting back and forth between the snow under his feet and Andrea's serene face, the only question on his mind, _what are you?_

His concentration and sharp instinct returned only when she spoke again and broke the silence and the light crunching sound of the snow beneath their feet. She was telling a story. A story from home. A story that served as useful information in his quest to unravel her past, no matter how shocking or painful.

“When I was little, I loved reading Mythology books. At the age of seven I already knew every myth about the Greeks so I was kind of getting bored. So, um, on Christmas day, long time ago, my mother gifted me with a book of Norse Mythology. It was leather bound, really beautiful and very expensive, as I later found out. It had a sigil at the front which was like, carved into the leather and it had the intricate shape of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. It took my breath away. I had barely gotten to the chapter that talked about you. I remember I was... reading about your magic skills and your highest than everyone else's intellect and I turned the page and there was a beautiful picture of you, a drawing from some artist. You had your helmet on, although it was... well... very different than your actual one. You kind of... looked like a deer-”, that made him laugh out loud, interrupting her for a moment and somehow dragging her along to accompany him in his fit, “... -yeah, so, I... I had a thing back then for blue eyed princes and the drawing had you with blue eyes and I got all excited and got up, ready to rush into the kitchen and tell my mum that ''look mama, there's another prince with blue eyes, but this one is better than the others, look, he's smart too and his golden armour is so shiny and he can do this and he can do that'', but then...”, she paused and looked down to observe their legs as they took steps forward.

Loki saw her face change. She lowered her voice, as if fearing that someone might hear, “... then my father walked into the living room and saw what I had in my hands and he... he was enraged, I think. I don't know if a child can recognise what rage is, but... I think I did”, she stopped again and perhaps without knowing, squeezed his pectoral muscle, where her hand had been resting all this time. As they made their way towards the coffee shop Loki put his own on top of hers and rubbed the fingers with his thumb, trying to give her the courage to go on.

“He... he insisted that such books are poison for the mind. Such stories are the stories of pagans and they insult our own religion and so he ordered me never to read it again. But of course, I was little, I couldn't understand why the fuck the story of... of a clearly remarkable God who could shift his form and become blue, like the sky and the sea, was insulting to anybody, so I tried to explain to him what the text was saying in my... in my very high pitched... high pitched seven year old voice, but at some point, he just got annoyed with me trying to defy him and... and he grabbed the book off my hands and threw it in the fire place”.

Her face was now fully hardened, jaw set tight, eyes full of more untold stories as they stared into the distance, blurry from unshed tears. Her voice was even harder than her features when she found the courage to continue.

“I don't know why I didn't cry in that moment. It would be natural. I had just lost my favourite book, a book that had been gifted to me just that morning. I only remember myself running to my mama and complaining out loud about what father had done and I was... I was screaming in her face that he had killed my book and all the people in it... don't... don't ask, I don't know what I was thinking”, she laughed weakly and shrugged, but it didn't sound convincing. “Maybe I thought that you and all the other gods were nothing but stories and so now that the book was destroyed you were too. Yeah... perhaps I was under the impression that you lived in the book, or something similar. But I never forgot that picture with your helmet on. Never. And when... when the news about New York reached Greece, talking about a vengeful God leading an army of aliens and controlling them with magic, I thought that it couldn't be. But then they showed your picture, as you were being escorted through a park of some kind with a... with a muzzle on your mouth. My then teenage self got so... so pissed. I don't even know why. I didn't even know you, but I was pissed that day. I was surprised I didn't go through an episode. It was just... your eyes... they were so blue as you stared straight at the camera, like you knew what you were doing. Like you were chained but had everything under control. Somehow. In some wicked way. I left the room and went to my bedroom to cry that day, because, I don't know... my seven year old self had just lost a prince from her valued collection, I guess. Or I didn't want my father to see me looking at you through the screen”, she added, putting particular emphasis on that word. _Father_. Contemptuous, deep emphasis that left an impression even though it was discreetly voiced. _Father_.

“Well, anyway, I'm talking too much. My point is that stories about you, specifically you, were not the thing that made me obey my parents, go to bed early, eat all of my food and such. They were the stories I felt inspired while reading that Christmas morning under the tree. So...”, she said in a much lighter tone, pushing away the bitterness and the consternation from seconds ago, “... you can sleep relaxed at night, knowing that there was at least one child in the world that wasn't scared of you and that... I don't know... kind of felt sorry in its own very unique, angry way, when they... when they took you away”.

The story was over, but Loki's stomach didn't cease twisting in knots. For the first time, perhaps in his whole life, he didn't know how to come back with an answer or how to manipulate his emotion to match with the situation. Could he say something? Was he allowed to comment on anything? Should he allow sadness to overtake him, because he had just listened to his beautiful woman reminiscing a long forgotten childhood story, buried deep inside her that she would rather have kept that way, or should he let pride and relief overwhelm him, due to the realisation that even in her youngest and most vulnerable years, she had been brilliant and open minded and compassionate with lost creatures and their doomed pasts? She held him on high regard since she was seven, how should one feel about that? Who? Him. The monster parents told their children about at night to get them to cooperate. Should he feel blessed that she found him fascinating and was definitely not afraid of him, his lineage or his colour or did he owe it to her to openly share her pain about a father who could not understand? Knowledge, even from questionable sources, was snatched out of her hands, but her unbiased mind was never affected by the opinions of the older and supposedly wiser.

And then he stopped wondering all together about what he should do or what he should say and how he should feel. He wanted to kiss her. Part her lips with his own and push his cool tongue inside. Stop them from walking the rest of the way to the coffee shop and explore that beautiful mouth of hers with all his might and all his passion, until they were barely standing on the precipice between life and death from the lack of oxygen. But was it proper? Was it too soon? Was it too late? Had silence seeped through the cracks of his unspoken words and put them both back into their own private little worlds, inside their heads? She appreciated touch more than words so he could simply trap her between a brick wall and his body and thank her with the velvety texture of his rather rough tongue and with all his unshed tears, but would she reciprocate? The ground he was walking upon was shakier than usual and all the solutions seemed to alternate between either black or white. Never just a tad of grey.

In the end, it was her that broke the silence and dragged him out of his internal contrition, probably having sensed how the God of Mischief had suddenly trouble with words. He who was usually as sharp as the edge of a knife.

“You don't have to say anything about it, handsome. Don't struggle. Just... I just want to know that you heard me and took my words to heart, alright?”, she admitted in a calm voice, while soothingly rubbing at his chest, warming him again like a concerned mother.

He still couldn't answer. All he knew was that he had to kiss something to take the edge of not knowing what to do, off. So, he reached for her hand and took it in his own, hastily bringing it to his lips. He pressed his mouth on her palm with such unconstrained urgency and got lost in the scent of her skin. He inhaled as deeply as his lungs would allow and then exhaled loudly, warming her deliciously. His breath tickled and she giggled playfully, the only sound that managed to reach his ears over the noise in his head. She tried to snatch it away from him, all smiles and daunting stares, but he didn't let go. Instead, he kissed it again and then slid it down to his chest and kept it there, firmly placed over his heart, as he turned to the side to whisper in her ear.

“It's exquisite and strange at the same time to feel what you ignite in me, do you know that? With all your admiration, your kind words, your passion with explaining so many beautiful thoughts. Do you even know how that makes a man like me feel, little dancer?”.

She looked up at him, just briefly, with coy eyes, haunching her shoulders as if trying to make herself smaller, but why, he wasn't sure. Her voice sounded small as well, as she spoke, “Nice, I'd like to hope. It's... it's... I...”.

“What is it?”, he cooed, barely holding himself from darting his tongue out to lick at her earlobe.

“It's... my... my... substitute for... for the things I... I can't do, for now”, she stammered, instantly feeling stupid for taking so long to form a coherent reply. Where had her eloquence gone all of a sudden? A few minutes ago she was telling a memory and now she felt so hot inside that it seemed that all the words had melted, “I'm sorry, Loki. I have some words and I have my touch, but I... I'm really trying to say more, to do more, but...”.

“It's fine, little one. It's alright. I know it's difficult”, he reassured her, pressing his lips to her temple in a long gentle kiss. She sighed in resignation, maybe a little disappointed that she couldn't bring herself to open up more about what troubled her.

He wished to see her smile again. _This afternoon should consist of nothing but smiles_ , he decided and so he let her on on a little secret, a little secret that as of recent, took up most of the space in his heart.

“You make me feel like myself Andrea”, he muttered, mostly under his breath, half hoping that she would hear it, half the opposite. But she _did_ hear it, for her face lit up and her lovely hands gripped at the fabric of his sweater with pure adoration.

“I told you some time ago, I'll have you as you are”, she ensured with a enormous smile on her face that triggered his own and made him fantasize about how it would feel to kiss her, while her mouth was happily open like that.

When they entered the coffee shop, she let him go and moved quickly to wait in line, grinning all too excited.

 

“Besides...”, she began to say, “... I wouldn't want your followers to tie me up on a tree in the middle of winter or sacrifice me with the rest of the lambs and the chickens. So, best to keep you happy”, and then turned her face away from him to look above the heads of the people waiting in line in front of her.

He laughed a low, dark laugh before advancing on her, oblivious to the fact that at least a dozen people sucked their breaths in upon witnessing the scene. Loki wrapped his arms around her, trapping her from behind, and tickled her sides with dexterous fingers, until she shrieked and squealed and tried to slap his hands away, but another fit of giggles stopped her mid act, giggles so happy that made his heart jump in tandem.

“Minx”, he growled in her ear in his best threatening voice, but she only squirmed away from his grasp and tried to straighten her clothes, still chuckling and all red in the face.

“Behave”, she growled back, for the second time this day, and slapped his hands a little harder, making him hiss and laugh simultaneously.

He managed to get one last deep inhale of her aroma, the distinctive scent of citrus and rum, cautiously rubbed at her earlobes every morning. The same perfume he had smelled close to her crotch, mixed with other, more heady and womanly odours from between her legs. The thought made his mouth water, but he kept himself under a tight leash, considering that firstly, they weren't alone any more and secondly, she wasn't ready, as she had made known in her own way on the street.

He retreated, coming to stand by her side, his cold and stoic mask of seriousness summoned and firmly set over his face in a flash, before a lean arm snaked its way around her waist to roughly pull her closer. It was instinctive by now. An urge that had been imprinted on the genetic code of his hands overnight, an urge that was controlled by his body, but not his mind. He did it without acknowledging it fully and so did she.

As Andrea sneaked her own arm under his, to grip at his side and bring him closer, she caught herself casting quick looks around the shop in an attempt to put at ease the insecure part inside her, which kept shooting warnings at her to check for the reactions of the many, instead of focusing on her own inner world. _Stupid stupid part_ , she cursed at it.

There were about twenty people in the coffee shop, as far as she could see. Some waiting in line in front of her and Loki and some behind them, sitting at their tables and surely glancing at them suspiciously, fearfully, perhaps even with disgust and mirth. Others though didn't even dare to raise their eyes towards the two tall and dark figures waiting to order, likely because they stood too close for comfort or because they actually had some sense in their heads. But this latest category consisted of only just a few people, who were still outgunned by the number of customers actually piercing tiny holes on her body with their eyes. Curious once overs, evasive and somewhat cruel and judgemental stares were what annoyed her the most, but the times when she would blush in shame and look away were in the past. Now she scowled at the people who thought they had the right to eye her and her man like that, drawing strength from his aloof and indifferent behaviour towards anything human. Their combined quiet intimidation and the powerful, secure hold they had on each other made the woman suddenly feel taller than she already was, braver than she thought she could ever be and much more confident than she was used to.

In the past she had used all these to distance people from her, but in reality, those had also been the exact traits that had kept drawing Loki in, giving him the constant need to approach and poke her with his questions or grace her with his romantic hand gestures. And now that they had graduated from this, to physically touching each other without hesitation, to stand hip to hip and emanate the same amounts of darkness, Andrea felt like all the other individuals in the room were irrelevant. Opinions, phrased way too loudly so that they certainly reached her ears, were strangely muted. Critical and mirthful faces seemed blank and void to her as she stared back at them, scowling and degrading them with her expression. All that mattered was the squeeze of Loki's fingers on her waist, which silently suggested, '' _don't bother, they mean nothing, you're with me now_ '', and her own need to just breathe and lean her head against his shoulder. _That's what real power feels like_ , she thought triumphantly, before ordering her standard drink.

They got their coffees faster than expected, considering how many people were waiting in line along with them. The couple headed for the far back of the establishment and, perhaps it was fate delivering a message, immediately occupied the table they had been sitting at that first rainy afternoon, all those weeks ago. With a knowing sideways look and a shared giggle, they silently reminisced the happening as they set their coffees down and took their seats on the couch, next to each other and close to the window so that they could gaze outside at the stony buildings and snowy streets.

Andrea took a sip from her coffee, but it burned the tip of her tongue so she set the cup down again and settled for shrugging out of her coat and snuggling against Loki's side to replace the lost warmth. She tentatively took his hand and raised it above her head to drape his entire arm over her shoulders and once he obliged, grinning like a content cat, she leaned her head on his opened up chest and sighed. He drew her in closer, rubbing at her upper arm to get rid of the chill of winter, while she crossed her legs and buried her hands between her thighs.

“Loki?”, she called shyly.

“What is it, little one?”.

“I meant what I said on the street, okay? It wasn't just to... I don't know. I just meant it. I really was not scared of you as a child and I am still not scared of you as a grown woman. Truth is that, yes, sometimes I wake up in the morning and you're there with me and I find it a bit overwhelming, because... you actually exist. You're not just a picture in a book any more nor a figment of my imagination. You're actually there. I can get overwhelmed, yes, but never afraid. Alright? Never of you. I... I like to think that I'm showing it with my... with my behaviour, but... I just needed to say it out loud as well. I needed you to hear me say it”, she confessed and tipped her head upwards to get a good look at him, check for his reaction to her words. She was met with bright eyes and parted lips that were just on the brink of spreading out into a gratified smile, but for whatever reason, held back from doing so.

The fingers wrapped around his coffee cup unwrapped themselves and approached her face slowly and when they got close enough, they twisted an unruly lock of hair and gently tucked it behind her ear. A single fingertip glided softly down her temple, easing her usually furrowed in concern eyebrows and magically taking the tension away from the crease in between. As it made its way down her semi exposed neck, he leaned closer and pressed a hot, kind of wet kiss in the middle of her forehead, a kiss that forced her eyes shut and her mind into sweet numbness. Her breath, coming out shaky and hot like the fires of hell, burned and tickled his throat, but he didn't pull away. Someone gasped in the background, in close vicinity to her and her beautiful God, but she didn't move. Nothing was more important in that moment than feeling the entirety of his velvety, sensual lips on her skin. Nothing made much sense during those short moments, when he delivered his silent thank you, _nothing at all_ , as it should be. Gasps from the external sources were drowned out by their mutual silence and only his gratitude could be heard within the shell of her mind. That was all she wanted to hear anyway.

“There's so much beauty in your mind Andrea”, he breathed against her forehead, not entirely losing contact with her skin, “I'm not impervious to it, you should know. In fact, I find myself envying it at the most random of moments”.

In response to his praising words, she leaned against him once more, tucking her head under his chin and removing a now overly hot hand from between her thighs, to hug him tight against the side of her body.

“You can be affected as much as you want by it, but... but there's nothing to envy from that place, handsome”, she argued in a whisper.

And as she listened to his unusually rapid heart beat, she stared out at the cold and dark street, noticing in delight that snow had begun falling again. The street lamps had gone on and she could plainly see the shapes of the tiny snowflakes moving in the air by the meek will of the wind, illuminated by the yellowish light shining upon them, before they ended up on the hard ground. His answer came as melancholy and final, as their end.

“Of course there is, little dancer. There's always something to envy in a mind, if your own has stopped thinking with such beguiling sincerity”, she heard him swallow down thickly, “You're full of life and wonder”.

She didn't say anything, for something told her that his mind was somewhere lost in the past, somewhere far away, where she could not reach him, even if she tried. And so she let him find his own way back, helping him as much as she could with the touch of her hand on his chest, caressing him with gentleness and thinking happy thoughts of his return back to her. Back to the present. And eventually he did. When his arm around her flex shoulders tightened, she knew that he was here again, but only when silence got comfortable enough did she consider speaking.

“Would you tell me a story?”.

A low laugh reverberated in his chest and next thing she knew, he was leaning down to whisper in her ear, “What kind of story would you like to hear?”.

She pondered over it for a while. If she wanted to be honest, she would love to hear about the place he came from, Asgard. She had read so many stories as a child about the golden kingdom of Norse Gods, who lived above the skies in one of Yggdrasil's enormous brunches. She would like to know more about the magnificent gardens and the high ceiling palaces she had seen on pictures and paintings. But she refrained from asking for one simple reason. Loki had lost this dazzling place two years ago. He had lost the realm he called home, the realm he had grew up in and had played in as a child. The kingdom he had managed to successfully rule for four peaceful years had been extinguished once and for all by some villainous fire demon, if one was to believe what his brother had told the news back then. No. She couldn't possibly request a story from home, because chances were that that wound inside him was yet to close and perhaps, even bled still.

“One that makes you happy when you remember it”, she finally said and let her hand move upwards to cling onto his shoulder.

He hummed in pleasure from her affectionate, needy touch and closed his eyes, trying to remember which adventure was the greatest and worthiest to be told. Yet going back to all the historic times when he had fought with tact and undeniable skill in challenging battles, all he could picture was the death of many good soldiers, the blood on his hands, the dirt and flesh underneath his feet, the mourning of the women as he and his brother returned to Asgard carrying the dead on the backs of their stallions, at least the dead they could find, but most of all, the disgusting banquets Odin threw in honour of those lost souls. Celebrations meant to host the respectable members of society, which Thor would surely bombard with stories of his vigorousness in battle, guests whose ears Odin sweetly caressed so that they kept believing him a worthy ruler. No. Those were definitely stories he did not rejoice upon remembering.

Perhaps, it would be more befitting to tell her about the more amusing side of living in Asgard. It was by far no lie that when younger, he had had a lot of fun with Thor, the Warriors Three and some other royals, even though none of them ever viewed him as an equal. And yet, when they all wished to break the rules and have a good time, it had been him that they called first, either to tell a convincing tale, or conjure up things to amuse them, or do something incredibly stupid to indulge them and perhaps, fill the personal emptiness inside. Even if that meant humiliating himself in order to be liked and included, he would do it. Of course now that he thought back to those moments, moments when he was at his lowest, disgust was all that he felt about himself, but if there was a possibility that even one of those occurrences would trigger Andrea's laughter, he would push his aversion aside and recount it. Besides, that was all people wanted sometimes. To laugh at someone else's torture, a torture brought by the need to succeed in something unachievable. To beg for something that they would never be given, no matter how hard they tried. Maybe the little dancer was like that too, maybe she wasn't. His mood had gone far too foul, way too fast, to allow him to think it through and so without further due, he went ahead and told her about one of the many stupid things he'd done in his life, not particularly caring any more if it would cheer her up or not.

“I've got a funny one for you”, he made an introduction and watched with half a heart as she tipped her head upwards to look at him with those big curious eyes of hers, expectation painted in yellow streaks inside the green of her irises.

“There was a time in Asgard when alliances between the Gods and other realms had become a bit shifty and so Odin came up with, until this day, awful idea, to forge new ones through the bonds of atrociously mismatched marriages. One of those unfortunate unions was between Skadi, Goddess of the Mountains, and Njord, God of the Sea. Trust me when I tell you that the differences between them were more than evident”, he sneered towards the end. Andrea squinted her eyes at him, not completely sure why the distaste in his tone.

“How so?”, she interrupted timidly, grabbing her cappuccino from the table.

“Well, to begin with, she was awfully young and he was tremendously old, but not quite in the sense of the age difference we two share, little dancer. In humans years, you're nineteen and I'm, I believe, close to forty, but Skadi and Njord... well, she would have been barely sixteen years old and he, about eighty”, he chuckled at that, but Andrea's features contorted in disbelief and mild shock, as she mentally started entertaining the impossible details of the wedding night. Thankfully, Loki didn't let her lose herself in the realm of weirdness and paedophilia for much longer.

“Apart from that, the girl was a wild thing. A true huntress. A maiden raised alongside wolves and eagles, while he was a wrinkled fisherman, forever bound to the depths of the sea like a shipwreck never to rise again in the surface of the water. Clearly, a poor match. But it was what is was and thus they begrudgingly got married in the throne room at the palace in front of all the royal lords and ladies. The feast was great and boisterous, as all feasts were in Asgard, but while everybody cheered and blessed the couple with prosperity and long life, there was not a single smile from the young bride. Who could blame her, really? If _I_ was marrying an old crow for whom I felt no love, I would never smile again for an eternity. Unfortunately, her mood didn't improve at all during the after party, which took place in a local tavern, just at the outskirts of the city centre. Everyone was drinking as much ale as their bellies could stock and brawling like insane animals, myself and Thor included. But Skadi was sitting alone at a bench at the far back of the little tavern, away from all the fuss and the noise, sipping on her ale slowly and, I suppose, preparing herself for the disturbing duty she had to complete as a wife, once the party was brought to an end. Thor noticed it, didn't like it and as per usual, challenged me to do something about it. He told me that if I managed to make her smile, only once, then he would buy me all the ale I desired. And so, in my somewhat drunken state, I accepted. I went to her, dropped to my knees and complimented her on everything I could think of. Her neck, her hair, her skin, her crystal blue eyes, but she didn't grace me with a smile. I told her that it was really unfair that she was now married to such an ugly old man and that if she ever wanted to have a good time under her husband's nose, my chambers would always be open. But my words, as it seemed meant nothing to her”.

“That sounds like something you would definitely say though”, Andrea commented between giggles.

“You have no idea, little dancer”, he said back, cocking an eyebrow and winking filthily, “But not even that cheered her up, much to my dismay. She said she wasn't interested and I sincerely tried not to take it as an insult. I decided that if I couldn't make her happy with words and flattery I would resort to actions. Long story short, I found a goat, from a farm nearby, and some rope and I tied one end around its horns. The other end of it, I tied around my balls”.

“What?!”, Andrea almost shouted.

“Oh yes I did. And while I was on it I kept telling her that she would be the lady of the house and Hela herself may bring fire down on Asgard, if she wasn't going to drag that old fart she had for a husband by the balls. What I didn't count on though was that the poor animal would get so terrified from the noise and the rope around its horns that it would start moving, running around the tavern in panic, dragging me behind it along the way”.

Andrea placed her hand over her mouth to stifle her loud gasp, watching him with wide eyes as he continued telling the last bits of the horrible story.

“By the time Thor thought of cutting the rope, Skadi was laughing like a mad woman”.

“What about you?”, she chocked out, the sadness in her voice where laughter should have been, taking Loki by surprise.

He furrowed his eyebrows at her, confused, “Well I passed out, little dancer. Thor and some of his friends carried me back to my chambers and dropped me on the bed to sleep it off for the rest of the night. The next morning, I had fifteen barrels of ale stocked beside my study desk and a pair of very purple balls”.

Andrea's face fell completely, her eyes darting questioningly between the blankness in his eyes and his lap, clearly wishing to say something but not finding enough courage to do so.

“What?”, Loki inquired, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I don't mean to be disrespectful or anything, because maybe, just maybe that's indeed how you can make a girl in Asgard laugh, but _I_ , the little earthling, am not really laughing”, she commented, her voice low and so, so pained, “That wasn't really a funny story Loki. That was awful, actually. You got hurt. Sorry... if I don't view it as... amusing. Perhaps it is... but... why?”, she added, disentangling herself from him and slightly moving away, her head lowered and her eyes full of inexplicable worry. Inexplicable, at least to Loki.

 _Why would that incident make him happy? I asked for a story that makes him happy... how can this make him happy?_... _No..._ _that sounded humiliating and painful_..., were some of her thoughts on the matter, thoughts which Loki heard all too clearly.

The young woman couldn't explain why she had suddenly lost her laughter, for the story truly was entertaining in some cruel, uncaring sense. But in this moment, cruel and uncaring were not things she wanted to welcome inside her and thus it felt wrong to laugh at such a painful thing. _Am I taking this too seriously?_ , she considered, chewing at her lip anxiously. A part of her told her that she was indeed being too much for something so trivial. For a stupid thing that had happened whilst he was drunk and over his head. But another part couldn't help but feel sadness for him and question just why on earth he would do such a frivolity. Maybe she was misunderstanding things, maybe that was indeed customary fun and courting in Asgard and she was simply behaving like the ignorant tourist.

A glance towards him confirmed that he was quite puzzled as well, although perhaps for other reasons. His eyes were different. Different than all the previous time she had stole glances at them and their swirling colours. Now they seemed to host more emotions than they could actually carry. Emotions with names he might not recognise.

“Do you care for me that much?”, he muttered, but when she replied, he realised that he had said it out loud, something that happened to him a lot lately.

Her head snapped towards him and she gave him a look of pure melancholy. She didn't say anything immediately, only came closer to lean against him once more. Her hand clang to his shoulder again, as she tucked her head under his chin, gently nuzzling her mouth and nose against his collarbone.

She heard him sigh and she felt him tighten his arm around her shoulders, keeping her against him needfully.

“Of course I care”, she whispered at first, and not just once, before adding, “Look, sorry if I'm over reacting. I do that a lot when I'm given the chance. But just like with Dr. Banner-”.

“What of it?”.

“I don't enjoy hearing about the times you got hurt. It's another thing to tell me of those moments because you want my help and another to use them as a story. It's... it's not a joke I find... entertaining, Pain is not a joke”, she spoke slowly and straight into his heart, “ _Your_ pain is not a joke to me. I'm attached to you, Loki, I know it sounds cheesy, but I feel close to you... in ways I cannot explain and some things... some things that you went through... I loosely, sort of, went through them myself. Just not in the same extraterrestrial, galactic background as you”.

She knew she was heading straight ahead to the direction she didn't like. Getting into detail about the situation at home wasn't on the top of her list of things to do today, but at least she could vaguely give him some food for thought. She could definitely show him that despite the different paths they took in their lives, once upon a time, they did share something similar, which instantly made them... not so alone.

Loki's eyes softened and his heart... well truth been told, he had no idea what was the sensation tickling that steely organ in his chest, but it came embarrassingly close to the melting of the snow once the spring sun makes its first appearance on the sky. However his mind wasn't as serene as his heart, as it maniacally struggled to fill in the gaps her words had left blank, but with all the will he had left, he shut this process of piecing the puzzle. _No_ , he chastised himself, _answers will come when she's ready to give them_...

As if she was able to listen to the turmoil taking place within him, she slightly rose from her comfortable position and turned her head to the side to look at him, with eyes alight with compassion and warmth. When she parted her plump, moisturised lips and lowered her gaze to his jawline, he honestly believed for a split second that she was going to lean in for a kiss. But that desired, soft connection never took place, of course. It was only his heart, running ahead and stumbling over all rationality and common sense.

“Please, handsome, don't read into it too much. I'm just trying to tell you not to use your pain as a means of amusement. Because you do that Loki. I know it, because I do it too sometimes. We take something that secretly hurts, we turn it into a parody to strip it off its power and laugh about it, sometimes alone, sometimes with others to diminish it all the more. Don't, please. At least not with me. Not with me, because... other people... exist outside of you, but I...”, she paused, not knowing if it was right or wrong to take it this far, but doing it anyway, suddenly feeling her bravery spark into a wildfire.

The hand that rested on his shoulder slid down to his heart and pushed lightly, “... I exist here, right?”. He nodded hastily and she continued, “Right. So there's no need to do that. Huh, words are your thing, I know. And I'm often amazed by how you... by how you can take something that seems trivial and make it sound like the most important thing in the world. But... just don't do it with... with your pain. I can't bear it”. She concluded and made to remove her hand, but he grasped it in his own and didn't allow her to take it back. He pressed it against his chest firmly and held it there.

“And then you insist there's nothing in your mind I should envy, lover”, he chided in an attempt to sound playful, but all he managed was a morose sense of comfortable melancholy.

 _Lover_. He called her that. Not ''little one'', ''not little dancer'', ''not darling''. Why did it matter so much? _He called me lover,_ kept playing on her mind like the best vinyl under the pickup' s sharp needle. _He called me lover and I call him handsome._ If that wasn't a romantic melody waiting to be composed.

“How can you even do that?”, he inquired, but she couldn't understand immediately what he was talking about. She was so stuck in love, but he probably thought that her silence was a sign that she needed more info, “How can you be so intuitive? How can you know me like this? I've never allowed anyone to know me like this and I certainly haven't let on much during our short time together, so how do you do it Andrea?”.

The slight accusatory edge in his tone caught her off guard and snapped her out of her daze. She cleared her throat and smiled politely, not sure why, before answering in her usual low gruff voice.

“I'm... I'm a good observer, I guess. I sense things too. I don't know how, I just sense things. Sometimes it's in the way you behave or in the way you look at... me, or others. Sometimes it's in the things you say, but, more importantly, in the way you say them. I just... I can tell... and I can empathize. That's us introverts, I suppose. We see everything but remain quiet. But I can't be quiet with... with you. You really... sweep me off my feet and make me gush out in words. I don't remember a time in my life when I'd been so chatty all the damn time”.

The low chuckle that escaped him towards the end of her sentence threw her in a fit of giggles and brought out her natural bashfulness all over again.

“You're a good observer, you sense things and I make you gush out in words? That's all you have to say for yourself?”, he teased.

She shrugged, “Yeah. And... and I also said some things before that, which I hope... I really hope make sense to you, because...”, but as it often happened, her English failed her, “... oh fuck... Loki I can't explain. I'm young and stupid and I can't explain. I just feel feelings and I'm rather hotheaded so that's that. My own thoughts sometimes don't make sense but I feel... I feel that if I express them to _you_ they will, somehow. Do they?”.

Loki chuckled again at her frustration and pulled her against him so that she supported her upper body on his. The little dancer immediately shoved her face in the crook of his neck, dipped in utter shame, and gasped in resignation. _Too many words. You're exhausting her Laufeyson_ , he chided himself, as he placed a kiss on the top of her head, smiling against her hair.

“Forgive me Andrea”, he said in a quiet tone so as not to disturb further her already worn out mind, “Like you so correctly said, words are my thing. My weapon. You know how they call me silver tongue. There's a reason for that, but even so, I seem to forget that your brilliance, more often than not, outshines my cunningness and that your honesty is indeed much stronger than my lies. It's just that...”, he paused to take a deep breath, “... certain life experiences cut too deep into me. Into the both of us, I'm sure. Lying is all I've known how to do best and I suppose, concealing my pain behind my cruelty is a form of lying. Forgive me, please, when I'm doing it to you. Believe that it's not intentional”.

Andrea nodded against his neck, inwardly confirming all her predictions concerning his behaviour over that story. Her instincts always had some base and now he had provided her with the evidence.

“Don't apologise”, she whispered, her voice muffled by his sweater, “Just know that you don't have to defend yourself from me. It's something I'm learning how to do as well”.

He smiled widely, the corners of his eyes itchy for some reason. His fingers tightened on her hand that was still safely tucked between their bodies, on his chest, as he agreed to the bargain.

“Thank you, little dancer”.

As restful silence descended upon them for a little while, Andrea busied herself with the absent mind activity of picking at the threads of Loki's woollen sweater, while he sipped his coffee and listened to the beating of her heart against his side. Since her face was so close to his own, every time he breathed in and out the tantalizing and bold smell of coffee would reach her nostrils, making her feel kind of funny between the legs. There was no justification whatsoever for her reactions, but she was sure they weren't extremely on the normal side, wherever he was concerned.

The fact that he had thanked her again for things no man should give thanks for, concerned her still though, and unfortunately the thought was impervious to the charm of his face or the enticing smell of his breath. All her life, she had grown up under the impression that men and women shouldn't be ashamed or undermine their true origins, their colour, their legacy and their weak moments, but embrace it all, own up to it and feel a sense of internal pride. Pride, for how far they've come with being who they are. But to realise that the fierce, highly intelligent, worthy of dozen thrones being she leaned against was insecure about these things, which she considered values of the highest order, was heartbreaking. Yet with no small amount of bitterness, she supposed that that is what happens when somebody is raised in a certain manner and then randomly discovers that that way applies to everybody _but them_ , because in contrast to all the others, they are simply different.

“Can you try again with the happy story, please?”, she chirped, wanting to lighten the mood and wipe the combination of sweet sorrow and disbelieving affirmation off his face. He was such a beautiful man. It was a crime to make him feel inadequate and wrong. A brutal crime.

He chuckled, but she sensed that he only did it to please her, and mused, “Would you like to hear about the time Thor almost got a heart attack, but ended up with something way worse?”.

“I imagine _you_ were the one to give him both?”, she grinned and decided to follow his lead as to how the atmosphere was going to be formed. The early night hours were yet to arrive. There was plenty of time to shift the currents and make him feel at least a little bit better about himself.

“Who else could it be?”, he cajoled, a puckish smile playing on his lips at the remembrance of the indeed happy memory, one that he actually rejoiced upon bringing into mind.

She wiggled her bum, in order to get more comfortable on the couch, and tilted her head up so that when he spoke, she would be able to see his lips move and collide against each other in that sensual, eloquent way that always hypnotised her.

“There was one time Thor had pissed me off about something, I don't even remember what it was, to be honest”, he began, noting how strange the word ''honest'' tasted in his mouth, “So one day, while he was returning to his chambers from the training grounds, I transformed into a snake and strolled about the halls, waiting for him to notice me. Thor was always fond of wild creatures and snakes were and still are his favourite little beasts”. A small smile tugged at his lips, as an indignant huff escaped his nostrils.

“Eventually the oaf looked down and saw me nestling around his ankles. His eyes instantly widened in admiration and so he bent down to pick me up and have a closer look. And then the moment we were face to face, I transformed back, screamed at his face and stabbed him on the stomach”, he talked faster towards the end, as if wanting to recreate the action with his voice and the previous smile turned into a malicious grin as he continued, “The nurses at the infirmary had been trying to close the wound for weeks, but every time it opened up again and started bleeding. In the end, it was mother who figured out I had enchanted my blade to cause repeated damage after first contact with the skin and so she created a counter spell to cast my magic out. It didn't matter though, because Thor never bothered me about the same thing. Ever again”.

Andrea stifled a giggle, but the chocked sound of it made Loki turn his eyes towards her and note in shivery delight that the corners of her eyes held joyful teardrops.

“Was that a better story than the previous one?”, he inquired, secretly seeking her assurance.

She nodded sheepishly and blinked the tears away, “It made you smile, handsome. So, yeah. It was”.

In that moment, his deepest, darkest, loneliest desire was to catch her bottom lip between his teeth and suck at it, until she moaned and writhed and begged for the teasing to turn into torture and for the torture to turn into pleasure, into an open mouthed kiss that would knock her off her senses, because that was what she was currently doing to him. With her gentle words and honey scented, dripping core and wide green tearful eyes, and all because he was gracing her with his newfound happiness. And he was a vindictive man, that was unquestionable, and he yearned to burn her the same way she was burning him, but thankfully, their stomachs found the perfect time to growl in annoyance and remind them that they hadn't eaten anything since they'd woken up. They both laughed awkwardly and nodded their understanding.

“I think it's time to stuff you with the lemon cakes we've been talking about”, he mused and reached into the pocket of his coat to get a few banknotes.

“Yes it is”, Andrea agreed and took them from his hand, “Thank you”.

“Go get them woman. The lemon cakes and anything else that catches your fancy”.

She got up to go inspect the bench up front, grinning and blushing at the sound of that smokily voiced, ''woman'', he called her from time to time. _So primitive, so damn hot_ , she thought excitedly amidst her haze of horniness. As she reached the spot, where all the sweets and delicacies were being displayed on little white plates and fine china, she couldn't help but think if he hid a caveman under that sharply restrained gentleman.

She returned to their table a couple of minutes later with a small silver tray in her hands full of potential toothache, dental decay and high blood sugar levels that would possibly torment the both of them for the next decade or so.

She carefully set it down and assumed her previous seat.

“The lady on the counter thought I was insane”.

Loki chuckled at that and raked his eyes over the pandemonium of lemon cakes, honey pies, cherry pies, butter and sugar coated cookies, strawberry jam and quite the bunch of scones, laying spread out before him. He couldn't resist licking his lips, reminiscing the last time he sank his teeth into something so sweet that wasn't necessarily a woman's wet cunt.

“Where shall I stab her for you?”, he joked, but he looked at her with such seriousness that for just a second she bought it.

“Would that be before or after you turn into a snake?”

Loki grinned wickedly, but shrugged her question off, “I'll leave that up to you”, and grabbed the first juicy lemon cake.

“Close your eyes”, he instructed her.

“Why?”, she questioned, eyeing the lemon cake in his hand with suspicion.

“Food tastes better when your eyes are shut”.

Andrea raised her eyebrows up to her hairline, but did as he said anyway, “What great philosopher said that?”.

Loki chuckled and brought the cake closer to her lips. He nudged them apart with it, observing amused how she darted her tongue out to lick the syrup at the top, before he drew it out of her reach to frustrate her. She pressed her plump lips together, struggling to appear angry, but failing.

“ _I_ said that”, he answered and this time, he allowed her to bite down on it. Andrea hummed deeply in satisfaction as she chewed and tasted the sweet sour treat and when she swallowed, opened her eyes to find Loki staring at her mouth and the way it moved, with something in his eyes that she couldn't understand. She licked her bottom lip to lick off some lemon syrup that had stubbornly dripped to the edge and smiled.

“You should try some. It's delicious”.

He raised an eyebrow and made to take a bite, but Andrea gently caught his wrist and shook her head no. Loki eyed her curiously as she ever so tenderly took the sweet from between his fingers, cheeks as red as the strawberry jam on the tray. She gazed up at him, as if asking for silent permission to proceed.

The corners of his lips twitched slightly, but the real smile made its appearance in his dark eyes. He nodded his approval and parted his lips expectantly, not failing to maintain constant eye contact with her. Andrea, even though flustered and somewhat shocked by her sudden boldness, brought the cake to his lips and anticipated him to take a bite, but if he was one thing, that was greedy. He stretched his lips enough to swallow it whole, straight from her hand, temporarily catching her fingers inside his warm mouth, the tips of them grazing against the perfect bottom line of his white teeth.

And as if that was not enough to have the girl breathing heavily, he also began to thoroughly lick them, occasionally sucking them into his devious mouth a little deeper, making her wonder, _where exactly is the cake in that cave he has for a mouth?._ And all the while, especially in the moment when his cheeks got hollower from sucking, he stared at her, with an almost lecherously ecstatic expression in his eyes that forced her into squeezing her thighs a little tighter under the table.

When he apparently decided that her fingers were thoroughly cleaned up, he let them out of his mouth with a loud, nasty pop. Again, someone in the coffee shop gasped.

“Delicious indeed”, he rasped.

She swallowed that thick bile of saliva that had concentrated in her mouth and stuttered out, “The cake...or... or my... my fingers?”.

“Both”, he smirked and turned his attention to the scones and strawberry jam, as if nothing at all had happened.

For an hour or so, they ate from each other's hands in a slow, lazy rhythm peppered with such strong intimacy that more and more people inside the establishment stared and gasped. Neither Andrea nor Loki addressed any of it though. They kept nourishing themselves with the sugary foods, savouring the various flavours that touched their taste buds with the addition of her fingers thrown into the mix, since Loki was a gentleman, of sorts, and always cleaned them up after being fed.

Andrea found herself wanting to do the same, but she didn't feel brave enough and with so many people watching them, she just couldn't summon the courage and be as brazen as he was, so erotically playful and uncaring of anything else. But fire strike and burn her down where she sat, if she didn't yearn to do it so much that her lips parted involuntarily every time his hand happened to be close to her mouth. When the last butter cookie was successfully devoured, she almost felt relieved. With no more sweets to be eaten, there would be no hands approaching her face, the fingers of which she wanted to suck until they had bloody wrinkles along the pads.

To banish the naughty thoughts, she grabbed her cappuccino and dawned it, hoping that it would be able to drown at the same time her aching yearning for skin. His skin. On the flat of her tongue or against the plumpness of her lips or better, against her breasts, oh yes, his skin against her breats or inside her weeping, drenched cun-.

“Do you miss your home?”, she spat out so urgently that he actually gave her a worried look, but she reassured him with a fake smile, trying simultaneously to tune her uncooperative brain.

Loki sat back on the rather hard couch and draped his arm over her shoulders once again pulling her closer to his body. A little smile tugged at his lips when she obliged in a flash and hastily wiggled her bottom, squirming uncomfortably to snuggle up against him.

“That depends. Can one miss a place where he was not born in?”, he muttered, perhaps more to himself than to her.

 _Why would you think any different_ , she found herself thinking, pained from the longing and heartbreak in his voice.

“Of course you can miss it. But... I'm guessing... a place is its people, mostly. If you weren't born among them, then it's normal to feel like that place doesn't belong to you to miss it. But still... you grew up in it so you have every right to long for it...”, she replied, hoping that her poorly phrased argument would bring him some solace.

He smiled at her, admiring again the beauty of her mind which had the extraordinary ability to take his bitterness and turn it into hopefulness. To capture the pain and temper it into a caress. To trap the sadness and replace it with mild melancholy, at best.

He turned his head to the side and buried his nose in her dark bush, inhaling deeply, while he praised, “That was a lovely thought, darling”. But except for that, he avoided answering directly. “Thank you”. And instead, seized the opportunity to ask her the same thing.

“And you?”.

She scoffed, “What about me?”.

“Do you miss your home?”, he explained.

She stiffened. Her hands suddenly very still and very cold. _No_. He heard her shout inside his head. _No_... and his heart clenched, but he remained silent, expecting to see if there would be any other answer, voiced outside the frenzy of her mind. He had struck some kind of nerve. A nerve that somehow traced back to her time with her family, but he couldn't be sure. So he waited patiently for her to find a sufficient lie. A convincing story that would throw him off track and would be enough to blur the lines and protect herself. But that lie never came. It never did with her.

“I miss the sunsets”, was all she said. Then silence. And then she added, “The sunsets were beautiful”.

He decided to push a little more, despite the fact that her whole body posture and behaviour had changed into distant and defensive.

“How so?”.

“Have you ever seen a heart? The organ?”.

“I believe so, yes”, he replied, the peculiarity of the question too great to ignore. But still, he kept his answers short and hoped that hers would be longer.

“During summer, it's like taking a heart in your hands while it's still beating, throwing it at the sky and shooting it with a gun. The blood splashes over the sky and as soon as it comes into contact with the blue, it softens into purple and orange. Sometimes pink too. These colours don't fade away until ten o'clock in the night. Only then the dark blue drowns them, but it's okay. Blue brings a finality to pretty things. That's what makes them even prettier. That's why the sunsets are beautiful. At least where I come from”, she explained eloquently, leaving Loki speechless for a long while.

The way she described it, made him shut his eyes for a brief moment to try and bring the picture into life, on the black screen of his closed lids.

“Fuck Andrea”, he said, “Some of the things you say are so unique that they must be written down or else they'll fade. You're too bright for this world”.

“Oh, I used to write them down”, she snickered, catching him off guard. His eyes popped opened and he quickly cast them down to her face. There was no expression held in there. His praise meant nothing? Had her writing had a sad ending? Was she even here?

No, she wasn't. Only her body was here with him. He followed the direction of her gaze with his own eyes and figured that she was staring at something he couldn't see, somewhere at the centre of the table in front of them. Her mind was elsewhere. Trapped in a specific moment in time that made her press her lips together in contempt. Her voice, when she continued speaking, seemed oppressed. As if she was holding back an emotion too strong to coat words.

“I liked writing them down a few hours before sunset and throughout it. At summertime, I would go outside on the balcony of my room and I would write whatever my mind could put into words. That's basically how I became so good at English. They weren't stories. The things I wrote. More like scattered thoughts and occasionally...”, she paused then, a beautiful blush coming to her cheeks. Her voice was considerably lower when she finished her sentence.

“... love poetry. I was... I was discovering myself and I... I wanted to put it into verses to see if it would make sense. I needed to record how... things made me feel, how I viewed the... the world, through bodies and sensations and... I sort of wanted to make assumptions about what love was. How it felt and how it was transferred from a woman to a man or the opposite or between two men, or between two women. I was a romantic back then, so I guess most of the things I wrote were delusional, but it didn't matter. I kept on writing them in that little, black notebook, because I had to assure myself that love doesn't hurt. That people... that people don't make it hurt...”.

 _Love_ , Loki thought in melancholy. _Are we even capable of such a majestic thing?._ He half smiled and tried to bring her back to him by dragging his finger down her cheek. But his face fell entirely, when he realised that she was immune to it. She shivered deliciously, but her eyes were still blank. Stripped off expression. It dawned on him that perhaps whatever she was staring at, stared back at her and she was desperately trying to prove that she wasn't intimidated by it any longer. It unnerved him to such extent that he reached further down and gently caught her jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

She flinched a little, but allowed him to guide her face towards him. For half a second, her eyes were unable to find their focus, but when she finally met his concerned gaze and recognised him, a tiny toothless smile tugged at the corners of her lips and relief washed over her glassy eyes.

Trying to interpret her emotion could go sideways in a flash, thus he concentrated on asking his questions in the most casual voice he could pull off. Whatever she was going through inside her head, he felt like he should give no base to. Diminish it somehow to make it unimportant and trivial. Perhaps if he completely dismissed it, she would forget it and find the happiness that so often consumed her when they were together like this.

“Do you still write?”.

She shook her head negatively.

“Why?”.

“Sunsets in Edinburgh have pastel colours. They are mostly faint. Too many clouds. A lot of rain. No time for brighter colours”, she whispered.

“If I waved my hands and gave you a bright one, would you write again?”, he asked, tipping his chin up to emphasize that this was a promise. Something easily achieved.

Just the slight raise of her eyebrow and the parting of her lips, a flash of hopefulness passing through her eyes, and then, “For you I would”.

He grinned, “Love poetry, little one?”.

She blinked her confirmation.

“And where your little black notebook might be, if I wanted to take a peak?”.

Andrea's eyes widened slightly. She had never thought that someone would be interested in the trash she wrote. Well it didn't matter now anyway.

She took his wrist and gave it a light caress, at the spot where his veins were most visible, before tucking her head under his chin and sighing in resignation. A small, delicate hand found its way under his sweater to caress his pale skin. _Comfort. Find comfort_ , the little voice inside her advised.

“In the fireplace”, she said blankly, “ _He_ found it”.

He winced.

 

***

 

They spent another twenty minutes at the coffee shop and they would have stayed longer, just sitting quietly on their couch, enjoying the warmth and the silence, if Andrea hadn't yawned. It was 8:45 in the early night already. Whatever sun shone over Edinburgh had vanished and the streets had been covered with darkness and blinding white snow. They hadn't even realised that there was no one left in the coffee shop besides the waiters, the staff in the kitchens and the woman behind the till. So comfortable they had felt with each other's caresses and hushed sounds that they hadn't even thought of giving a quick look around the room. So they giggled, got up and left.

They hadn't talked for a unbearable amount of time, during which they had taken the time to heal from Andrea's pain and Loki's shuddering and upset stomach. The things she had shared had affected him quite a lot, making him feel a certain weight on his chest, as if the newfound knowledge was difficult to digest. The story from home had shaken him down to his bones, forcing him to realise that he wasn't the only one in his youth to be oppressed and manipulated into adjusting to a specific order of things. But perhaps it wasn't even the story itself that had filled him with such deep empathy and heaviness, but the colourless way in which she had told it.

A part of him secretly wished he had never asked, yet another, was grateful that he now possessed one more piece of the puzzle that was this woman, walking by his side in this very moment with her head high and her eyebrows kneaded together in a determined bow, like a savage heathen set on some unknown idolatrous master plan. It wasn't right, all things considered, but his cock ached with need for her at the thought.

 _What did they do to you?_ , he had wondered weeks ago at the club, that first time he got her to open up, even just a tiny bit. She had refused to talk about the months before she had ended up in Edinburgh and he had respected that wish. But now he found himself respecting her even more for the effort she was putting into letting go and telling him as much as she could. _So much alike_... He wished he'd met her sooner. He wished she'd been born centuries earlier. He wished he'd met her back in Asgard, all those years ago. But the present was good too. The present would perhaps save them both.

Andrea heard him sigh as they paced closer and closer to the warmth of their precious refuge, their home, and decided to cheer him up for the rest of the way. What she'd told him at the coffee shop, her memories of writing and sunsets had been the only parts of herself she felt comfortable to share with him, for the time being. They were by far not sufficient and she hated to be doing this to him, but it was all she could let on without breaking down to tears or, alternatively, breaking the table in half.

But she knew that if she kept up this facade it would tear her apart and destroy him, sooner or later. As he walked beside her, she kept casting looks at him, observing guiltily how deep the dip between his eyebrows was. He truly cared for her, for what she held inside. But as endearing as it was, she couldn't stop being a coward and let her soul run free. What was she so afraid of? That he wouldn't understand her? That he would cast her out? Maybe she just feared uttering the words aloud. Speaking the experiences that had moulded and ironed her into the person she was today.

For now, she found some solace in the fact that he was smarter than anyone she knew. More cunning and sharper than any other mind she had the opportunity to connect with. Her heart called out to him, ached for him, but if she wasn't able to summon her courage soon, perhaps he would have more time to figure this out on his own. Piece the bits of information she was feeding him and form some kind of background that he could use to base his thoughts. It was cruel. She _was_ being cruel. But she found no other way out.

It might not be fair to him, but at least she could bring him some happiness, some kind of entertainment to distract him from his copious attempts at reading her. She braced herself for him and forced a smile into her face, set on making up for the emotional exertion she had caused him.

“May I ask a question?”, she inquired in a playful tone.

He grinned, his dark eyes darting towards her, “Is it a naughty question? I'm really fond of those”.

She blushed and looked away, “No... I mean... not really”. She didn't want him to see how flustered she got when he posed innuendos like these, but he was already snaking an arm around her waist, his face smug and triumphant.

“Come here”, he gasped out and pulled her roughly to his side, making her giggle loudly and brace herself on his chest to gain her balance.

“Say it”, he ordered, tipping her chin up to make her meet his eyes.

Without further due, she blurted out, “Was this a date, my King?”.

His eyes lit up with sudden desire. _My King_... Tilting his head to the side, in an almost quizzical manner, he parted his sensual lips, “I know not my lady. Was it? It was you that insisted we go out”.

“Noo, I didn't insist on anything”, she argued, “I would have been fine with staying home”.

“No you wouldn't”.

“No I wouldn't”, she agreed immediately.

After a few more steps and a couple of unforgivable gushes of frigid wind, she brought the subject up again, “Can this... could it... be a date?”.

Loki pretended to think about it, before he lowered his gaze to her mouth and said suggestively, “That's how humans begin relationships, isn't it? If it's more familiar to you that way, we could certainly discuss it”.

“It does... it is... more familiar. So... could it be?”.

“Only if you kiss me on the doorstep”.

She giggled, louder than was ladylike, and hid her face in her hands, “You're impossible”.

“I know. But that's how you like me”, he retorted with a lilt of amusement in his voice.

She didn't reply. Only shook her head, a wide smile stretched out on her embarrassed face and squeezed his waist tighter, closer to her, to draw more warmth.

Thanks to their long strides they soon reached the front door of the building and went in. They got up the stairs as fast as they could, to get their blood pumping, eager to enter the penthouse and snuggle under their blankets until the very last chill of winter down their spines was sufficiently melted away.

But just at the moment Loki took out his keys, Andrea's uplifted and apparently, newfound, wicked spirit shone through. Extending a hand and placing it on his forearm, she turned him towards her, calling him in her most believable, pleading voice.

“Loki?”.

He swiftly turned at her beckoning, worrying for no particular reason, but before he had the chance to react, she got on the balls of her feet and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Startled, aroused, and admittedly hot, where she'd kissed him, he struggled to wrap his mind around what had just happened, but as her grin got bigger and bigger, he got an inkling.

“Minx”, he growled out, as he realised why she'd done it.

“What?”, she threw back, all big, innocent eyes, “You didn't specify”.

He shot her a suggestive glare as he unlocked the door and motioned for her to go in first. She stepped inside, with her nose elevated to the ceiling and almost too proud of her little prank, but just a few more steps into the penthouse, her breath violently hitched in her throat.

Loki lurched in front of her, as fast as lightning, pushing her behind him and producing at the same time two of his larger silver blades, ready to face whatever threat had dared to invade their private lodgings. A few strands of his raven hair fell in front of his eyes, but his vision was crystal clear and predator sharp, his mouth set in a dangerously tight line, as he stared at his target. The blonde and apparently, too stupid enemy.

“Surprise”, Thor blurted out hastily with his palms up in surrender, “Easy now, brother. You're scaring the girl”.

 


	25. glad tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor brings both good and bad news. Unfortunately, the bad affect Loki to a disturbing degree. Andrea senses his restlessness and does everything in her power to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's so nice to be back! I'm bringing with me chapter 25, which is filled with tension, love, affection and... glad tidings. Just to clarify, in this chapter we learn about what happened after all with the situation at the club Andrea used to work in. I'll admit, I went all dramatic and global and I know I should have probably springled the previous chapters with one or two hints about what was going on in that place, but honestly, I forgot. But it's okay, I feel that despite that, I managed to patch up all the plot holes pretty successfully. Also, apologies if whilst describing the dance at the apartment, I used an infinite amount of words. I hadn't written a dance scene in a while and I kind of lost touch. A bit. Thank you for understanding. 
> 
> The song mentioned in this chapter is ''West Coast'' by the legendary Lana Del Rey. 
> 
> The two books mentioned in this chapter are ''Brothers Karamazov", by Fyodor Dostoyevsky and ''Inferno'', by Dante Alighieri. Just thought I would include them here in the notes just in case someone didn't know I was talking about books. Feel free to check them out, they are heavily incredible. 
> 
> **As always, pictures are burrowed from the web, pinterest in specific, and so their rights belong to their respective owners. In this chapter none of the pictures need explaining, so go ahead and swoon! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! I appreciate them so so much, you can't imagine! Love you all and see you next Thursday! Kisses...

“Little dancer, please”. 

“Call me again what you called me in the coffee shop and I'll help you”, Andrea bargained, innocently playing with the hem of his cotton shirt. 

Loki furrowed his brows at her for a second, as he struggled to reboot his brain. Then recognition glazed over his bright, yet exhausted, blue orbs. A tiny smile appeared on his lips, barely pulling them up at the corners. That was how awful he felt. 

“You're going to make me beg for release, aren't you?”. 

Her cheeks immediately gained their usual red colour. She smirked at him, trying not to let herself be intimidated by his sultry tone or get shier due to the innuendos he threw unabashedly.

“Yes”, she confirmed stubbornly, tucking a few strands of hair behind her very red, hot ears. 

Loki's smile gradually widened as his large hands came to rest on her apex thighs, squeezing them through the dark fabric of her jeans. His grip was making her feel just on the right side of uncomfortable, dividing her mind between the options of squirming away or staring him to death, keeping her ground and her resolve intact. 

“Beg me”, she insisted, a bit breathless, bringing her face closer to his, taunting him with her fiery eyes to act any differently. 

“Lover...”, he began, intentionally lowering his voice to a deep, vibrating rasp, “... please, help me escape my mind”. 

Her eyes softened considerably at the word, even though she still couldn't resonate the giddiness it caused her. _Oh, now you're being poetic, great_ , she thought half heartedly, and succumbed to his never to be denied pleas. 

“Fine. How could I not, after all? You've done so much for me... it's the least I can do for you”. 

“Bless your soft and caring heart”, Loki whispered against her collarbone, his teeth playfully tugging down the collar of her sweater. 

Andrea squealed when she felt the upper teeth line scrape her skin, all wet and grazing, and shoved him back on the couch with a gasp. Quickly scanning his face for that devilish green twinkle in his eyes that made her knees weak, she also came across a slight colour difference, high up on his cheekbones. Was he blushing? No, that would be absurd. Couldn't be it. 

“Hold tight, handsome. I'll be back in a minute”, she announced and got up and off his lap. 

Before she started walking off to the closet, she discreetly cast a look down to his spread legs. Her cheeks exploded in reddish heat, so rapidly, like a volcano eruption. The front of his grey sweatpants was slightly elevated, hosting underneath what seemed to be a very mild but distinct bulge. No, he wasn't blushing. His cheeks were coloured not because of shame, or sudden embarrassment, but due to heat. Heat of arousal. Arousal she had excited within him. What the... how? I didn't do anything... solid, she questioned, finally getting her ass moving towards her destination, pacing faster than was needed, as if trying to escape from the mental image of what she'd caused him. Was she doing this to him all the time or was it just a normal male body reaction? 

Hastily going through her drawers, she pondered that the specific occasion required something a bit more special than the baby doll. He adored seeing her in it and for a split second of doubt and self inflicted insecurity, she thought that perhaps she should just put that on and be done with it. But there was a little disturbing, if not annoying as hell, idea in the back of her head that wouldn't cease making sudden appearances at the front of her head. An idea that flashed before her eyes in traitorous snippets, featuring complete freedom and particles of black lace and flowers all over. The skin and the darkness and the low lights... _oh damn, perhaps I wont look that bad_...

She ended up throwing both outfits onto the wooden floor in utter frustration, staring at the black lace with longing and half a heart. Her gaze shifted to self assured and secure as she cast a look towards the baby doll at the other side. Torn between two equally enticing choices, but each with a completely different sense of sexiness, she cursed under her breath, scoffed indecisively more times than she could count and stomped her foot against the floor, like a little child and then cursed again, like a truck driver. 

There was no doubt that whichever set she ended up picking, Loki would think her truly lovely and honestly, be elated once she began dancing in it. Both sets fitted her perfectly well. The baby doll brought out her innocence, her sense of purity that he was addicted to. The lace would shape her hips and push her breasts up, bringing out the sensuality that she didn't always feel comfortable showing him. Both sets she liked wearing. Both he would definitely approve. But the problem was, did she have the confidence to sport the wilder option or did she truly believe herself too shy to actually put it on and slay in it? A piece of lingerie without the confidence to walk and dance and sway in, is just fabric that's being misused. Biting her lip and tapping her fingertips on her hipbone, that was all she could think about. Was even lace a good solution when he had a hard on like that? 

_Grow up, he wants your help tonight. Distract him. Make him lose it. He would want you to put that little black thing on. Yeah, but is it what, I, want?_. It was true that her handsome man had gone through a lot last night, what with his brother's surprise visit and the news he had delivered. He needed the relaxation, the light headedness she could so effortlessly bring him. He had to focus on something that wasn't nerve wrecking. Something that would engulf him in the safety and the cosiness of her willing body. He was on edge, felt threatened, like this place and everything in it had been breached and all because of that one man, that damn man who wouldn't stop eyeing him with contempt and suspicion, even from miles away. 

Perhaps the preservation of her shyness should stop being a priority for her. Perhaps she should put it aside and focus on him and his own needs. She was already consciously electing to neglect his basest and most physical ones, much to her inexperience and dismay. It wouldn't do any harm to sate his desire to forget. To have his mind released from stressful decisions and unwanted attention. A pair of sexy panties and a dance could very likely be the cure to his tired and irritated self at the moment. And besides, she couldn't think of any man who wouldn't have his mind blown by a woman in lace and see-through bra, dancing on a pole and touching herself. Who would avert their eyes from such a sight? And he had assured her that she was quite the sight when she moved.

When she opened the door again, shivering a bit in the cool air of the room, she confirmed having made the right choice. A few steps closer she noticed Loki slouching on the couch, a large palm covering one side of his tipped down face. His shoulders were slightly haunched. His whole aura screamed crankiness, unease, torment. And yet a quick look around the ready room, established that for this moment he would try to put all that aside and concentrate only on the medication she would be providing, if she managed to have a little more faith in herself, that was. 

He had once again taken care of everything. Her pole was set in the middle of the living room, as the carpet and the little coffee table had been pushed out of the way. The tiny lights were lowered between the bookshelves, making the shadows of the books extend and stretch wider and taller. The small, black set of speakers was positioned between ''Brothers Karamazof'' and ''Inferno''. An indication of his current mood perhaps? Andrea wouldn't be surprised. He was all about that accentuated, dramatic effect. 

She was a woman of action when properly motivated or driven to extremes and right now, she could say she was almost provoked. Seeing him like this, in such a state of unwavering intensity, restlessness and mirthfulness felt wrong and unnecessary. She had to make it stop, even for just a little while, until it forced itself up to the surface once more. After a quick stop to her night stand to spray the perfume that she knew by now, was driving him out of his mind, she approached him with cautious and quiet footsteps.

Loki sensed her presence near him, but didn't raise his head. His frustrated, unresolved anger showed all over his grumpy face and he didn't wish for Andrea to see it any longer than she had to. It would surely make her feel burdened with the purpose of making him feel better, a plea that had escaped his own very lips in the first place and which he had regretted instantly. She wasn't obliged to relax him and take his edge off every time something or, someone, as was in this case, disturbed him and ruined his state of calm. She shouldn't be the one responsible for the making up of his mood. He was a grown man. He could do it himself, given the time, without having to drag her down with him. _What are you doing, Laufeyson? Relying on a poor woman to take away your frustrations?_

But then her scent reached him, miniscule clouds of rum, citrus and honey, liquid desire invading his nostrils and like the addict he was, he hungrily breathed it all in. Like an eager dog, identifying its master.

His lips parted with the first exhale, the heat of her body now closer, almost tangible in the back of his head and neck. The corners of his mouth twitched up just barely when he felt soft hands, gliding down his chest and stomach, hot lips caressing the shell of his ear. She was pushing some loose strands of hair behind it with her nose, an act that was in itself both soothing and tensing. Unintentionally, the difficult to hide bulge in his pants jumped in excitement. He briefly thought if she had witnessed the almost comical phenomenon as well, before his attention was forced back to the sensation of fingernails, digging in between the bones of his ribcage, pinning him down on the couch. A surprised gasp escaped him when she started humming in his ear and when she finally graced him with her voice, a shiver ran down his spine, his neck breaking out in goose flesh. 

“I know he’s the only one in your mind right now, but you got to understand. I don't like sharing you with anyone, not with your brother and especially not with that other arsehole. Nobody can come into our house and upset you this much. Behind these doors, you're king and they kind of disrespected that. I wont have it, handsome”, she murmured, her voice absolute and unforgiving. Loki's standard grin came back on his face at her words, his only thought now, to discover what she had in store for him. 

“If I'm king behind these doors, then you're queen. What are you going to do about it?”. 

She chuckled, thankful and delighted that some of his playfulness was still present, “Well, unfortunately we are going to have to talk about it, but for now... I think I shall make you forget them. Close your eyes and open them only when you hear the music. Okay?”. 

He nodded slowly and shut his eyes, welcoming the soothing darkness. She left him then, the warmth of her hands and breath quickly being replaced by the general coldness of the room, a coldness emanating from his own body. A delectable frost that clung to the walls. He remained silent and still as a statue, as if the tiniest sound would prevent him from hearing the music, his signal. Her statement turned over and over inside his head, like a calling from his own personal siren. 

_I think I shall make you forget them_. He truly gave her all the blessings in the world to do just that. It was what he needed, even just for a few moments, until he was able to gather his wits about him and process the news his brother had dropped at their feet. Hopefully, Andrea's mind would be clearer than his. More practical. Sneakier even. Sharper. Perhaps she would provide the best solution and save him the trouble of having to make a decision on his own. Perhaps she would be the voice of reason and assist him well enough in the making of said decision. She'd help him assert his control, sort out the chaos, a chaos that wasn't even caused by him, sadly. 

_I think I shall make you forget them_ , he thought one last time, before an all too familiar drum melody filled the open plan penthouse, taking him back to a very specific night at a certain underground club with laser lights and artificial smoke coming out of the vents of both floor and ceiling. The little dancer had been wearing leather pants and a low neck sweater that night, the million coloured lights hitting her sweaty chest, making it shimmer and glisten, like the skin of fairies. However, as he opened his eyes, he saw something quite different. 

“Fuck...”, he muttered under his breath, his gaze fixated on her slender, swaying figure, doing its magic in the middle of the living room. He might have recognised the song, but the woman dancing to it was yet again, a completely different one. 

“... _down on the West Coast they got a saying... if you're not drinking... then you're not playing, but you got the music, you got the music in you... don't you?_...”. Raking his eyes over her, as she took a couple of slow swings around the pole, - a move he had grown used to seeing her do, a way of familiarization with the instrument of her seduction-, he took in each detail of the invigorating, transparent little pieces of fabric that adorned her breasts and pelvis. She looked particularly delicious in it, so delicious in fact that his mind went straight to thoughts of sucking at her skin through the fabric, until it was lewdly soaked to perfection. 

Black posed the perfect choice of colour against her golden tinged complexion, because it enhanced its natural beauty and at the same time, darkened it in the most intimate areas, covering them from his lascivious gazes. Black made certain that those parts of her were only reserved for his imagination. At least for the time being. The dark God had to admit that he was surprisingly not bothered by it, but on the contrary, impeccably aroused. 

The taut buds of her breasts along with that salty pussy were concealed behind large, black, lacy flowers, intricately embroidered on top of the see through, flimsy fabric. No. He was not the slightest bit annoyed by how tortuously close she had decided to bring him to her fully naked form, only to sneakily hide the most exciting bits. No. Every part of her, displayed with consent and willingness was exciting in its own way. It held uniqueness, because it had been her choice to let him see it. This served as a message, he pondered, that she trusted him enough to see her a step before ultimate bareness. If anything, he should be flattered. 

So he let himself go, relaxing his shoulders and dropping the hand that was previously splayed over his face. It clumsily landed on the couch with a light thump. He parted his lips and drew in little, steady breaths, which he always had to take whenever she danced like that for him. He enjoyed her to the fullest. Drunk her in. Bathed in her devotion and care and basked in this new confidence she had embraced, body and spirit. 

“... _you're flying high at the show, I'm feelin' hot to the touch, you say you'll miss me the most, I say I'll miss you so much_...”. Andrea tensed her middle muscles, testing them for strength and endurance. They weren't as taut and unwavering as they had once been, but if the ones on her biceps and triceps cooperated, she figured it wouldn't be extremely difficult for her to stay up on the pole. 

Gathering momentum from a particularly swift pirouette, she jumped on the metal and held it as tightly as possible, until the force of the first swings eased out, stilling her mid air. Her palms were on fire from the friction of those first swings, but she paid it no mind and concentrated instead on keeping her body tight and tense in order to remain aloft. Not doing so would mean falling down on her ass like an ungraceful giraffe on ice skates. Confirming that she could stay like that for just a bit longer, she crossed her ankles, locking the tube between the strong bones and pushed left so that she faced away from Loki.

Just in time for the guitars. _Damn, I still got this_ , she thought triumphantly, a small satisfied smile playing on her freshly licked lips.   
“... _I can see my baby swingin'... his Parliament's on fire and his hands are up_...”. Supporting her upper section on a singular grip, she bent her waist and dropped as far back as her arm could possibly stretch.

She made sure to keep her neck in a reclined position, where it would neither be too tense nor way too loose. The first could injure the muscles, while the second could make her dizzy in a flash. The hand still free from any kind of strenuous work or involvement in what the rest of her body was performing, she skimmed over the exposed skin of her stomach and belly. She felt the different muscles with her fingers, stretched excessively to achieve maintaining her above ground. The motion was fluid and artistic, as she raked her nails against herself, making the skin between her breasts all the way up to her throat shiver. 

She was being affected by her own touch, something that originally took her by surprise. The light sheet of golden hairs rose to attention as she cupped the underside of one breast, feeling its average swell against the curve of her palm. Without thinking, she rubbed it, closing her eyes to the incredible sensation of the fabric grazing the already taut nipple. 

He was watching her do it, she knew that. He was watching lustfully, with a kind of danger reflecting in his eyes that made her want to climb down the pole and mount him like an animal. Let his ridiculously long arms snatch her angrily and throw her down, subdue her into a position that would enable his jaws to clamp around that breast she was so eagerly rubbing, and bite down hard. 

She was far up, quite close to the ceiling, and so looking down to confirm his expression was impossible. But she was certain of the stare. That stare that meant mayhem. It pierced her skin and if eyes could suck you in, then his were leaches, suckling invisible purple marks all over her, preying on the deliciously infected blood within her veins. 

Her thighs quivered at the thought and she instantly decided it was probably best to touch ground. “... _down on the West Coast... they got their icons, their silver starlets, their Queens of Saigons_...”. She straightened her limbs and descended slowly and steadily, focusing on the the next set of moves. Aside from the practicalities of having to come up with a choreography on the spot and improvise, and always being in tune with the song, she enjoyed herself a lot and found it easier and easier to let go and give into the rhythm. The looks he gave her still brought a pink flush on her cheeks and chest, but she had long grown used to loving her body's natural reactions to him, seeking them out on occasion. That sudden rise in her temperature, the unfamiliar tightening in her lower belly. He brought out of her most coy self that incongruously brazen sort of need to touch her own skin as if she was not familiar with it. To feel it, trace it, learn it anew, like it had just been given to her. That blanket that covered and clung to the bone. 

The spot between her legs dampened, her stomach all in knots, but it didn't matter, because these were functions of her body he was only allowed to cause and observe as they unfolded, nobody else. There was some sense of familiarity in that. A notion of comfortable intimacy that ruled out all the shyness. A trust, cultivated between two people of entirely different sexual experiences. An understanding that one body needed to teach and the other ought to learn, though both bodies were obliged to work towards equality, both physical and emotional. 

She fixed her eyes on his, carefully building her courage to perfection. Her hands came up, over her head, to lock behind the pole, her hips splaying wider and wider as she parted her lower regions with small, timid steps. Her spread thighs rocked in pure, slow seduction, the lady and pubic bones suddenly loosing all solidity and starting to flex in tandem with the muscle they supported. It was the mysterious trick of the low lights, of course, that caused the effect, but it seemed otherworldly nonetheless. Shadows were cast upon the right spots, creating the perfect skin contrasts. It looked as if the bones danced inside her body. 

“... _boy it's you I desire, your love... your love... your love... I can see my baby swingin'_...”. Loki drew in a sharp, urgent breath, recognising immediately what she was up to. Hip thrusts, languid and long, not in the least agile, but slow and tortuous instead, just like she had danced at the underground club that night. He watched her thrilled, as she alternated them, first a thrust at the left, then one at the right, two at the left, two at the right and so on. _She wants to kill me_ , was all he could foolishly think of. 

He didn't mean to, but his eyes were stuck on the strange movement of her inner thigh bone, which seemed to strain and recoil depending on the width and force of each thrust. Her legs were open so widely that he could see the entirety of the coffee table in the space between them, but that was only on rare moments when he managed to extricate his gaze from that big flower hiding her pussy. He fought quietly with himself to cease looking at it with such intensity, but his struggles proved futile. It was far too delicious a spot, far too beautiful a design to bother dragging his eyes elsewhere. She would have to forgive him that one indulgence. That was until he heard her giggling, a childlike sound that ran completely incongruous to the womanly way she was dancing. _Oh, you know what you're doing to me, but you still choose to play coy..._

He glanced upwards at her rosy face, which was half covered by insubordinate strands of hair. He tilted his head to the side and winked at her, causing her to give into another fit of giggles. She hid her face in a hand, flustered and embarrassed and shut her thighs in a meek attempt at stopping him from looking at them. It was ludicrous and he found himself laughing too with her bashful reactions. 

This was perhaps the first time they were communicating in this degree, while she performed and he didn't want it to end. But, unfortunately, she ignored his silent plea and rubbed at her neck, her collarbone, the hollow under her throat, places she knew he loved to bury his nose into, oblivious to the fact that she was making him just a tad too uncomfortable within the confines of his sweatpants.  
“... _I can see my sweet boy swingin'_...”. He fidgeted slightly in his seat on the couch, slouching even more to relieve some of the pressure on his cock, thanking the Norns that the song was about to reach its end, and with it, his torment. Only Andrea had other plans in her mind, seemingly adamant on ending the poor man. 

She dropped down abruptly on her hands and knees, her lips dry from the constant panting and her shoulders trembling from the exertion. Her gaze, as she set it upon him, was feral, neediness clearly written all over her now black eyes. He kept very still and calm, as if he was expecting in sudden trepidation, the minute this panther would attack him. She crawled to him slowly with only one goal in her mind. Make him lose his. 

“... _I'm in love... I'm in love_...”. She climbed on top of him, gracefully sitting on his lap, spreading her legs on either side of him with the fluidity and ease of a long experienced lover. They locked eyes, desperate to find out why everything around them was so electrified, trying to catch their breath as it left their lungs too quickly. 

“What's his name?”, she chirped, biting the edge of her lip hard enough to redden the skin. 

His face remained blank, still, expressionless, slack. No recognition, no emotion, except for what showed in his eyes. Desire, barely restrained, even though the entirety of his body was immobile.

“Wha- what?”, he stammered, somewhere lost in translation. 

Andrea laughed whole heartedly at him, a sense of pride surging through her rapidly cooling body.

***

 

 _Last night_...

 

“Surprise”, Thor blurted out hastily with his palms up in surrender, “Easy now, brother. You're scaring the girl”. 

“Oh, really?”, Loki mocked in a threatening growl, as he waved the pointy end of his knife towards Thor's face. Andrea saw the God look down at his nose, where the knife was dangerously approaching and tried to choke a sneaky laugh when he took a tiny step back. The other God, hers, turned towards her then, his eyes softening considerably as he addressed her, “Am I scaring you, darling?”. 

She shook her head no, biting down on her lip to concentrate on the pain instead of this comedy of a situation. She gave him a little shove on the pectorals and whined, “Don't flatter yourself, handsome”. Then she nodded towards Thor, a conservative little smile adorning her face, as acknowledgement of his presence. He nodded back, returning it. 

At first inspection, the God of Thunder looked... not as scary as she had made him out to be. Few weeks ago, at the coffee shop, she had confided in Loki that she felt a bit intimidated by his brother, although she hadn't gone into much detail as to why. Truth was, that the physical idea of him was what taunted her. For some reason, the television had made him look terribly enlarged, but not in a lengthy sense. He had looked bulky and broad and build up like a bodyguard, but now that he stood in front of her, she realised that that was, by far, not the case. 

Thor was generally nice to look at. Not that her gaze would linger if she randomly saw him on some street, but the kind of nice that makes you tip your head and purse your lips in indication of ''yeah, he's decent looking, alright''. He had an adorable face, nothing of the fierceness she had witnessed through the small screen. His sky blue eyes, well, eye, hosted a constant kindness and something like playfulness, an undertone that must have been adopted by his brother. It would make sense, after all these years, for one brother to have been at least mildly affected by the other's traits. His overly blonde hair and that scratchy beard that adorned his jaw and reached up to his cheekbones to unite with the rest of the... blondness, gave him an angelic kind of aura and made him look more like the loyal dog of the family, rather than its defender and cruel leader. As for his body type, a quick once over of her curious eyes confirmed that he was curved to perfection, in the curviest meaning of the word. She could clearly see the difference now. 

While Loki was shaped and sculpted delicately, like a statue, whose maker loved him too much to cut him deeper, Thor was gifted by nature with wider muscle that if exercised properly and regularly, had the capacity to evolve and balloon into pure strength. But that didn't mean that he moved gracelessly, or that the mass of muscles took away from his beauty. 

One brother was blessed with ethereal features, pale, white, black, soft green and intense blue, lithe like a snake, whereas the other was offered the chance to adopt the colours of the earth, dirt, sun kissed, blonde, tanned, clay put into shape. 

“Welcome”, Andrea invited, her smile broadening just a little, before she turned away from the brothers to take off her heavy woollen coat and overly warm cotton sweater. 

“She doesn't look that scared to me”, Loki shrugged, giving her shapely ass an appreciative glance. But not even the sight of her in those tight push up jeans was enough to calm him down. 

“Now, what the fuck-”, he turned around faster than the speed of lightning and threw his dagger at Thor, “-are you doing here?”, and then the other. In comparison to his volatile action, his voice was strangely stripped off agitation. 

Poor Thor managed to dodge both daggers, getting away with just an epiphanic scratch on his left cheek. His hand came up to touch the cut, squinting his eyes at his fingers in sheer amusement when they came out bloody. He chuckled, but it wasn't ill mannered. 

“You're still adamantly skilful with those things. Even if they are so tiny”, he commented. 

Loki almost snorted and repeated the question, “What do you want Thor? And how did you get in here in the first place?”. 

“That was easy enough. You leave the terrace door unlocked, little brother”, he informed. 

“Don't call me that”. 

From a few centimetres away, Andrea's jaw dropped. _We have a bloody terrace?_ , she wondered excitedly, making her way back to Loki promptly. She was now in her black under shirt and rough jeans and seeing how he was still in his coat, she approached to help him out of it, if he so wanted. _We have a terrace and he didn't tell me. I love terraces. So poetic_.

Slipping her arms under his own and around his middle, she nudged his shoulder with her nose, “Do you want me to take that coat? It's warm in the room already. You will get all hot and sweaty”. 

He leaned a little against her, but didn't allow himself to get too lost in her gentleness and kind manner. He had to maintain a steely resolve against Thor and whatever he intended to throw at him. 

“Thank you, darling”, he agreed and shrugged out of it. 

She took it off him and carefully folded it over her forearm, going towards the hangers by the door. She got back promptly and noticed how neither of the brothers had moved from their opposite spots. The atmosphere was tinged with a type of quiet threat that she couldn't register, so not knowing what else to do, she did the one thing that wasn't like her at all. Introductions. She reached out for Loki's hand, wrapping a couple of fingers around his own in hopes of drawing some silent courage from the tactile experience. 

“I'm Andrea, by the way”, she addressed Thor, flashing him with a kind smile to hide her nervousness, “Nice to meet you. Do I... do I just call you Thor or... titles are in order?”. 

He returned it without hesitation, “Nice to meet you too. There's absolutely no need for titles, no. I'm Thor to everyone. Especially to lovely ladies, like yourself”. 

“Watch it”, Loki muttered threateningly, but it only made Thor laugh. 

“Only trying to be nice, brother. Relax”, and then he turned back to Andrea, scrunching up his nose as he said, “Still tight arsed, obviously”. 

Andrea sensed Loki's fingers curling into a fist and quickly decided to cut down the testosterone fights. 

“Right, can we all sit down? You're making me nervous”, she admitted and went to the dinner table to retrieve a chair for Thor. 

She set it across from the couch and then pushed Loki to move and sit down. He obliged her with begrudging difficulty, never taking his eyes off his brother.

Once they were all seated, she asked, same toothless smile on her lips, “So, what do we owe the visit?”. 

“I do apologize for dropping in announced, but I have news on the case you assigned me to, brother. I wanted to deliver them myself”, Thor answered. There was a slight pink shade high up on his cheeks, under the faint stubble, that she couldn't quite place. No matter. So the subject was of a private nature, she thought. Bracing her hands at the edge of the leather couch she moved to get up again. 

“I'll leave you then-”. 

“No, love. You're staying”, Loki said then, his voice quiet and surprisingly kind. He reached out and put an arm around her hip, urging her to scoot beside him once again, “The news he's talking about concern you”. 

She furrowed her brows in utter confusion, darting her curious eyes between him and Thor. This was the first time she met the God of Thunder and he was coming with news. News for her. How? What was going on? 

Loki kissed her temple, easing her little fearful frown. Honest to himself, he had completely forgotten about the help he'd asked all those weeks ago. So much had happened, so full his days had been, so many feelings had evolved between the little dancer and him that the matter of the club had been completely pushed out of his mind. But now that his brother was here, sitting across from them, all fidgety and anxious for reasons Loki would die to uncover, he only hoped that the news he was about to deliver were positive. He wasn't sure he could bear Andrea's disappointment if nothing had been done about the situation at the whorehouse. She didn't let on, but he knew she wanted some sort of closure. 

“You haven't told her anything?”, Thor asked suddenly and then addressed Andrea, “Seriously, he hasn't told you anything?”. He shook his head, “Oh, Loki, you and your secrets”. 

“Tell me what?”, she requested, shrugging her shoulders, genuinely not knowing what the fuck was going on. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise”, Loki replied, just slightly sneering.

“But brother, what if I had failed?”. 

“Oh, for fuck's sake Thor, just spit it out”, he barked, his impatience getting the better of him. 

Andrea almost giggled, but moved her hand to his knee to calm him down as much as she could, “Hey, handsome, take it easy on him. He's nervous”. She turned her attention to the other God, noticing randomly how his eyes were a different blue than Loki's, “What is it?”. 

He cleared his throat again and set his huge, calloused hands flat on his muscly thighs. The God of Mischief rolled his eyes in exasperation and bit his tongue. 

“I imagine you're familiar with a certain establishment, here in Scotland, named... foolishly enough, if I may say so, Valhalla?”.

She stiffened at the mention of the place, her heart clenching a little, but so did Loki's hand around her hip. She felt his thumb finding its way under her shirt and the next thing she felt was the comforting caress of the pad against her bare skin. 

“Yes. I used.. I was a... dancer, there... some time ago”. 

He gave her a sympathetic smile, stripped of any kind of pity or judgement, for which she was more than glad. When he spoke again, there was a lilt of amusement in his voice and his eyes kept flicking to Loki in a sort of proud, conspirational manner that she couldn't yet comprehend. 

“What of it?”, she pushed, getting a bit impatient herself. 

Thor's eyes fell on her then, his heart thumping loudly. He wished he could somehow be more able to communicate his sympathy and express his admiration to this woman, who had managed to cope, survive in that foul place for so long. And to think that she probably only knew half of the things that had been happening in there... But he was here for two tasks and if he strayed from what he had rehearsed, Loki would surely sniff that something was off. If he hadn't already. 

“We shut it down, dear one. And by ''we'', I mean Tony Stark and a few of his trusted contacts”. 

Andrea's eyes widened, her breath stuck in her throat for what seemed more than just a couple of seconds. Her face soon started to balloon and redden from the lack of oxygen. 

And indeed they had done just that, as she was informed by the nervous God, who, bless him, went into great lengths and tiring descriptions in order to make her understand the course of action that had been taken. 

A few weeks ago, Loki had called in, requesting his brother's help in closing Valhalla down. He had explained in great detail the occurrences he had seen unfolding in there, during both day and night hours.

Andrea had only suspected that he might have been visiting in the daytime as well, but as it appeared, he had. It also turned out that the things that took place behind the establishment's closed doors had been far more atrocious, needless to say illegal, than Andrea had originally thought. For a brief moment, she felt caught in some horrific twilight zone, where the air is stagnant, still, heavy and there's no escape. 

Tony Stark, although surprised by Loki's immaculate interest in putting an end to such a place and the activities going on within, had brought into the case agents from special forces and had contacted friends at the FBI and Scotland Yard, requesting one warrant for property search after another, saying that he had reasons to believe the establishment traded in illegal alcohol and other substances. But of course, that had only been the excuse. The premise under which he would manage to get his guys into the club. He was Tony Stark. Iron Man. Millionaire, philanthropist, playboy, as he liked to describe. Who wouldn't believe him? 

“When they entered the premises they discovered that not only were the bottles on the shelves contraband, but also that the basement was filled with boxes of illegally recorded tapes. I better not go into detail about the content. Let's just say that Loki here was right about certain cameras positioned in the corners of certain ceilings”, Thor informed, his voice dropping to a low, sad muttering. 

“That place had a basement?”, Andrea quipped. 

“Indeed. A very large, very unclean basement with not only boxes and rusty equipment of... a particular variety, but also, cells”. 

“What?”, she almost shrieked, her mind going blank at the sound of that. 

“We'll get to that part shortly”, Thor assured and continued where he had left off, “You should know that Stark and the lab found a specific tape featuring the two of you, but the image was distorted. Blurry”. 

Loki snorted, “That's because I put an illusion around us that night, while we were in that room. Whatever Stark and his nerds from the lab saw happening, is not what actually took place”. He cast a sideways look towards Andrea, uncertain if he should reveal more than that. 

“I thought so too. By now, I believe I can tell when you're doing magic, little brother. Anyway. They destroyed it, under my request, even if it was evidence”, he continued and then his gaze shifted to Andrea, “I didn't wish to put you into an even more uncomfortable position”. 

Andrea half smiled at the man's intuitiveness and humour, glad that he was being as discreet as possible about all of it. And yet, she couldn't help the deep dread and the sadness and the internalised anxiety from that night to take hold of her and claw heavily at her chest. She dropped her forehead onto Loki's shoulder and he immediately took the hint. Bringing his forearm around her neck, he pulled her closer, cradling her head affectionately against his chest. Her hand came up to clutch at the fabric that slightly bunched up around his stomach in a desperate attempt to anchor herself to something soft. 

“We didn't go up... into that room, by choice... you know. They... he... we were forced by... by my manager, that... that poor excuse of a man”, she chocked out, holding back tears and trying to bring the anger out instead. She didn't feel comfortable crying in front of anyone but Loki. 

“He knows, darling, he knows”, he reassured her, kissing the top of her head and brushing her unruly hair away from her pained face. He had made the decision to leave those parts of their story out, when he'd been explaining to Thor what he wanted him to do, thinking that he was keeping her safe by doing so. But since she was right now electing to share them with his brother, those parts that were the most intimate, the most delicately cringey, he could do nothing but follow her lead and offer as much solace as he could. 

“Andrea, you do not have to explain yourself at all”, Thor reassured too, “That man was exactly what you describe and perhaps, even viler than both of you had imagined”. 

Andrea cocked an eyebrow. 

“Was?”, she questioned. 

That same word caught Loki's attention too, “What do you mean by that?”. 

“I'm guessing you never called him anything but ''manager''. Am I correct?”, Thor inquired. 

She shook her head, “He never told me his name. Actually, none of the staff knew it. He had a strict policy about using our names inside the club. He forbade it. We all had made up names apart from the two guards at the entrance”.

Thor nodded, “There was a good reason for that”. 

“I don't... I don't get it. Who was he? And why ''was''? Did something happen?”, she asked, now officially alarmed. Who had she been working for for the past three months?

David McDarmond. That was his real name. As it appeared, over the past decade he had taken up many false identities, but no. This was his real name. A plain name, for sure. But a name nonetheless. Smuggler of stolen goods into foreign soil all over Europe, doing a little swash buckling whenever the mood struck him, wanted by both Interpol and CIA for the murder of two people, both executed on American borders, as they were trying to cross the States illegally. His latest achievement was the opening of Valhalla, the sex club that gave no receipts, didn't pay the employees properly and didn't, for sure, treat them with respect and humanity, given the nature of their job. Instead, as Thor revealed, on more than one occasion, the elite management took advantage of the prostitutes' youthfulness leading up to them disappearing out of thin air. Human trafficking, hence the cells on the basement, a level to which Andrea had been forbidden access to when she had started working there. They had told her it was an apothecary, too old, dilapidated and dangerous to walk into. Every now and then, when the rates fell, a woman or a man vanished and nobody looked for them. Obviously, they hadn't been quitting. Money needed to keep flowing in some way, when customers weren't in the mood to fuck or get drunk. She had never in her months of working there being a witness to such an activity, because as Thor said, nobody had disappeared between September and November, but before that... well. 

“Quite the chap”, Loki sneered, rubbing at his lip with this forefinger roughly. Thank God he'd been paying the girls he fucked handsomely, helping them to buy their way out. 

Andrea was still sitting silent and frozen like a statue beside him, her hand clamped over her mouth in utter astonishment. _Human trafficking... in Edinburgh... in a city inhabited by not so many people. What's the population rate... some thousands?_... It was almost impossible to believe. For a while there was awkwardness between the three of them, until she finally wrapped her mind around it. She lowered her head between her knees in resignation, exhaling audibly, trying to exorcise the tension of these news out of her body, but the shock lingered still. 

“Fuck...”, she cursed under her breath, a lump starting to form at the base of her throat, “I could have been... I could have been sold to some Arab paedophile at any given moment... how could I... how could I've been so stupid?”. 

“No, Andrea, please, don't speak like that. Don't think like that”, Loki rushed to reassure, pulling her in his arms yet again. She gave into the embrace with no resistance, burying her face in the crook of his neck and dragging his sweater down to get to his skin. 

Thor noticed curiously this little desperate act, the way she shuffled the fabric away so that she could bare his brother's neck. Her long, delicate fingers found their way to his throat instantly, scratching at it, burying themselves into the skin, like hooks. This human girl seemed so attached to the man that embraced her that it almost looked unnatural in its casualness. The God of Thunder observed, a bit worrisomely, how her sudden internal tension melted away, how her breathing slowed down the moment her skin touched his brother's. He cast a brief look at Loki, realising in embarrassment that the God of Mischief had obviously caught him as he watched them closely. But he only nodded at him, as if confirming something, but aside from that he gave no other explanation and quickly turned his attention back to the shivering creature in his arms. 

“Shh, darling”, he cooed affectionately, raking his fingers through the girl's curls, “Shh. You did what you had to do. It's in the past now”, he whispered, kissing the top of her head as if he was consoling a lost child. 

Thor found it difficult to extricate his gaze from them. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. What his brother was doing for another soul. Head kisses? Loki usually mauled women, if his memory served him right. They all loved it of course, the mauling, but still... His attention was soon shifted back to the subject when Andrea called him. 

“Thor...”, she mumbled from her safe place, tucked under Loki's chin, against his chest, “... where is he now? Please, tell me he's away...”.

“Do not worry yourself over it. He's been transferred to a federal prison in America. The lawyers are still battling over the penalty for the charges. It seems like he's either facing imprisonment for at least thirty years or... a more permanent solution. Stark says that it is the judge's final call”, Thor informed immediately, wishing to put her at ease. 

“Why America?”, she inquired, “Because the... the murders were committed there?”.

“Exactly”, he confirmed, “And for some other reasons, which, forgive me, are way too bureaucratic for me to understand, much less explain”. 

She nodded, “As long as he's away...”.

“He is, Andrea. Of that I can assure you. There's nothing linking you to him or his establishment. You're safe. Not that you wouldn't be if he was still here in Scotland. After all, you're with my brother”, he said, eyeing Loki with evident warmth in his bright blue eyes, a kind of warmth that caught the God of Mischief by surprise, “Trust me. There's no safest place to be. He may not show if very often, but he protects what he cares for”. 

Loki's lips parted in quiet surprise, his heart doing that confusing thing where it sped up for no reason at all. He suddenly felt... better. For all his extensive education and sharp vocabulary, he couldn't find a more appropriate word than that. Better. Better as in accepted? Better because of Thor's words? Better due to the truth of those words? He wasn't sure, but his heart was pounding and his lips trembled with the need to smile, a need he fiercely suppressed. Perhaps he didn't have to understand this, perhaps he didn't have to explain it to himself. Maybe his emotion was demonstrating all the confirmation he would ever need. 

Andrea's hands clutched at him harder, her fingertips leaving small, pink bruises where they pressed themselves into his pale complexion. _Yes, he does_ , he heard her think and all of a sudden, her own verbal affirmation made that ''better'' feel magnificent and clear as day. 

“Thank you for this”, she said, lifting her head from his neck to look at him straight in the eyes. The smile he had been forcing back, broke through and he was utterly powerless to stop it, or shift it to a smirk or a grin. Thankfully, her green eyes turned away from him, saving him from the embarrassment of smiling at her in front of his brother, who would definitely spill everything out to his friends once he got back to the Compound. He had already noticed Andrea's urgent need for contact. His own affection would be the cherry on top of the pie, perfect food for his stupid friends. 

“What about the girls? And the boys that worked there? What happened to them?”, she remembered then, pressing a hand to her chest to steady her heart. 

“They've been extensively informed about the situation, placed into care and soon, I believe, they are going to participate in one of the government's rehabilitation programs. I assume they will be seen to properly, perhaps experts will help them find honest work again. Stark knows this all way better than me”. 

She nodded, somewhat relieved. Her heart went out to those girls. And Benjamin, the only man she knew from the male company quartet. 

“Thank you,Thor. Thank you for all that you've done. You and Mr Stark. Please... give my thanks to him as well. He went into so much trouble...”, she muttered gently, gracing the God of Thunder with an appreciative smile. 

“Yes, indeed. Thank him for us. He finally did something right”, Loki quipped, coating his voice with the slightest bit of a sneer. That didn't mean though that his words weren't truthful nor that he harboured disrespect for Stark. On the contrary...

“Actually...”, the blond God argued, as he got up from his chair, signalling his imminent departure, “...you can tell him in person, if you wish”. 

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he looked away from the couple nervously, set on avoiding Loki's penetrating gaze. Now was the time for the part he felt more than hesitant in delivering. _Oh Norns, please keep him out of my head_ , he prayed. But his brother had already entered his mind, already onto him, already having made the connection. 

“We can tell him in person?”, Andrea repeated curiously, “What do you mean? Is he here in Edinburgh too?”. 

Loki beside her chuckled maliciously. The vibration of it, she recognised immediately. The already dense atmosphere welcomed the sound reverberating within his chest, the same way as a needle penetrates the skin. With only a tinge of resistance and a sudden piercing pain. She, herself, was turned on by it, but Thor... not so much. She observed how he took a step back, averting his eyes from Loki even more so than before. He crossed his big, muscular arms in front of his chest, as if he felt uncomfortable by the mere echo of the chuckle. It all led to the conclusion that Loki knew something she didn't, something that Thor felt more than sceptic to admit. 

“Oh, Thor...”, Loki murmured, but both of them heard him clearly. She knew that something was about to happen. And she was immediately confirmed right. 

The God of Mischief got up slowly and began pacing towards his brother, steps so precise and quiet that anyone would doubt he was actually moving. Soon the distance between the two of them was completely minimized and they stood chest to chest. Andrea didn't dare get up herself and so stayed put on her couch, waiting in agony to see what would happen, how the interaction between the two men would shift. 

“What is that supposed to mean, brother?”, he asked, his voice dripping a quiet malice that made a shiver ran down her spine. She shook her head though, chastising herself and trying to focus on the conversation in progress. She could get turned on later, now there was an interesting incident about to unfold. 

“Look, Loki, please-”, Thor began to say, but he was abruptly cut off. 

“I am looking”.

“Listen, brother-”. 

“I am listening”. 

“Can I just talk without interruptions?”. 

“Why? Am I making you nervous?”. 

“Yes! Can you stop-”. 

“But why nervous, Thor? It's only your brother you're talking to”. 

“Exactly”, Thor commented, trying to lighten the mood with joking. 

“Tell me what it is right now, or I'll bring the blades out”. 

“Why must you be so hostile? It's only an invitation”. 

“An invitation? An invitation to what?”. 

“To a... well, just a party. For Christmas. Nothing too bothersome”. 

“Whose Christmas party?”. 

“Stark' s”. 

As soon as the name was provided, Loki's demeanour altered. Andrea watched him tense, his back muscles suddenly stiff, shoulders slightly raised, as if in defence. He curled his hands into tight fists, betraying that he was losing his grip, but despite it, when she heard his voice, it was calm and distant, like the epitome of control. So full of contradictions he was that she had no idea what he might be feeling. 

“That can't be all there is to it. You're lying”, he declared boldly, astonishing Andrea once more with his rapid mood swings. He was probably surprising Thor as well, for the poor man looked so lost and baffled. 

An extensive silence followed, during which nobody dared speak. A staring contest accompanied it, as Loki had set his mind on determining what lay beneath his brother's ''simple invitation''. Or so it seemed to Andrea, who continued sitting in her corner on the couch, looking from one brother to the other. What she didn't know, was that the silence held words. Words exchanged, but not uttered with tongue and teeth. She couldn't have known even if she tried. 

_Brother, I know you can hear me_ , Thor thought, during the silent moments, speaking inside his head quickly, not wasting any minutes. Loki squinted his eyes at him, acknowledging the plea, yet not understanding the manner in which the conversation was deigned to be held. He nodded, just the slightest tilt of his head, expecting in great anticipation Thor's explanations. 

_Please, listen carefully. I would say this out loud, but there is no reason to worry your woman even more. Loki, she has been through enough. I do not wish for this to weigh on her conscious as well. I know I am powerless to hide anything from you. You'll hear it anyway, but perhaps we can both save, her, the burden of knowing._

_Of knowing what, you imbecile?_ , Loki thought to himself, a bit annoyed that his brother did not possess the same power of mind reading. This would be a one way monologue, the fact forcing him into staying quiet and compliant until it was done. He relaxed his fists and averted his eyes from the blond God and fixed them on a random spot at the left in an attempt to not alert Andrea that something was indeed off. He huffed in exasperation, notifying Thor that he didn't have all the time in the world. 

_I would promise you that all is well, but it would be a lie and you would see right through it. This is indeed an invitation, but... it was Valkyrie's idea. Stark caught you and Andrea on one of his insane tech things, some flying camera thing, walking on the street and... and in here, Loki, in your house. I'm afraid he has all sorts of crazy theories about you two and we all got into a quarrel over it at a meeting recently. Val simply threw the idea on the table in order to force Stark to stop making assumptions. She said that by inviting you to the party we'll confirm first hand that there's no clandestine plan, no... guile in what you have with this girl. I know it's not ideal, but please consider it. It would put everyone at ease if you come and frankly, it will vanquish Stark' s suspicions. Please, just think about it. I was instructed not to tell you any of this. To let you walk in there without knowing that it is actually an experiment, but I didn't. I didn't, because I trust you. I know you've changed. But the others still doubt it. I'm sorry, brother, but to me, this party appears to be the only way to prove them wrong. Please. It will only be a few hours. What's few hours in comparison to all the time you will later have with her?_

_Like I would ever let you or Stark, or anyone else determine how much time I can spend with my woman_!, he shouted, a shout that echoed within the walls of his mind. He glared at his brother threateningly, his jaw set tight, lips pressed into a hard line, but for all his menace and mirth, these news had exhausted him. They had strangely stripped his strength away, his sense of control, because control had indeed being snatched from his grasp. _Stark, you bloody fool, in my house, in my fucking house!_ , he kept snarling, the words bouncing back and forth between his lips and pharynx. And yet despite the force of the curses, his body felt weak. Lucid, docile, as if it had been injected with lethal doses of paralytic fluids. _Fucking idiots_... 

“It's a simple invitation for the both of you to one of his lush gatherings. You know how much he likes throwing them”, Thor added, out loud this time, and raised his hands chest high in a friendly gesture. 

Loki lowered his gaze to the floor, staring at his perfectly polished leather boots, whilst rubbing at his skin in sheer agitation, as if he hadn't heard at all his brother's words. _How did he manage this? How did he get footage from inside my house? Fist her advisor, now Stark, tomorrow the whole fucking Earth._ Andrea needed to know about this. There was no way he would keep her in the dark. 

First of all, with her intuition and empathy he was certain she would have already noticed that something was up and secondly, he wanted no secrets between them. They were bound, they were together, i _mprisoned inside each other but free_. Keeping this from her was not an option. Not for them. Not from what they shared. She needed to know, he kept repeating to himself. She needed to know and she had to help him think straight, because right now, everything seemed blurry and red. Her more practical mind, her direct approach would be invaluable. But not now. Not in front of his brother. They had to be alone and at peace and Thor's presence didn't make him feel particularly calm at the moment.

He nodded, still deep in thought, awash in doubt and unwanted anxiety. _In my house... in my fucking house_... He raked a hand through his hair, pulling the strands roughly backwards just to feel something bold and more grounding. 

“Thank you for your help Thor. We'll think about it”, he quipped in a mechanic short of way, “We'll think about his Majesty's proposal”. 

That statement was full of a kind of restrained rage that established a threatening chill all around the open plan penthouse. Andrea sensed everything turning cold, a piercing, bone chilling cold that he seemed to exude from the pores of his skin, a cold that was quickly transferred in the atmosphere, sticking to the ceiling and frosting the walls. There was a particular air of mock superiority in his voice when he referred to Stark that assured her immediately that things weren't as good as they appeared. But now was not the time to ask, as well. 

“Thanks for everything”, she said to Thor, giving him a last smile that he returned with grace and kindness, before tipping his head in welcome and moving alongside Loki towards the terrace door.   
And the last thing she noticed in absolute dread, was how her God's hands trembled, how they shook as he guided Thor out of the apartment. Thunder struck a few minutes later, somewhere outside, announcing Thor's official departure. 

She got up hastily and went to the kitchen, grabbing the kettle like a mad woman and filling it with water. She didn't know why she did that, but she pressed the heating button, fidgeting like crazy, her mind telling her to do something with her hands to keep the edge off. But making tea was probably an insufficient way of dealing. 

Loki had gone upstairs with his brother and hadn't come back down yet and it unnerved her immensely. Shifting from one foot to another, waiting impatiently for the water to just fucking boil, she tried to sort through the mess of emotions that ruled inside her mind. Or was it her heart? Her body in general? Her whole existence perhaps? It didn't matter. All she had to know was that everything was swirling inside her, making her stomach twist in knots.

Hot, thick tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, because of his gesture. Because of how selfless he had proved he could be when it came down to doing the right thing by her. Not being the type to ask for help, even for the tiniest things, he had gone completely out of character in order to do something that held no benefit to him. Something that would only have meaning to her. Her. He had done it all for her. 

Anxiety was creeping in at the same time, emulsifying itself with the joy. She took deep breaths, trying to control it as best as she could, struggling to keep the one from overshadowing the other. His hands were shaking, but why? He was a creature of unquestionable stamina, thus simple exhaustion couldn't be the reason. It had to do with his brother, but how? She was there the whole time while they talked about the invitation, if one could call that conversing. It was more like Loki intimidating the words out of his poor brother's mouth. But was that all? And when would be the right time to ask? Would she disturb him if she commented on it? Was she worrying too much over nothing? 

He was getting down from the terrace, the sound of his light footsteps reaching her ears. The kettle started buzzing at the same time and there was noise inside her head as well. The hissing of the water was too much and in a flurry of motion and senses, in an internal moment of frenzy where her frustration peaked, she growled, unplugged the machine from the socket and spun around as fast as lightning. She crossed around the island with such agility that surely Loki must have thought her angry again for reasons inexplicable. Speeding up, she unexpectedly jumped on him, literally like a mad woman in heat pouncing on a poor, available male to sate her thirst. The palpitations of her heart echoed so hard that she barely heard him saying, “Andrea, what-”, before his arms went up rapidly to wrap around her crouched form. One hand settling on her waist, the other firmly grabbing her by the buttocks, he kept her hoisted up, helping her to securely engulf him with her long, strong limbs. 

He felt the pressure of her legs, squeezing him roughly, the flat of her soft, crossed feet rubbing, grinding against the base of his spine, occasionally extending its delicious treatment further down. Her hot breath scorched his neck in a tortuously slow manner, resembling the way one pours steaming, liquid wax on another's body. Soothing. Reassuring, even though just a tad uncomfortable at fist contact. Her lovely, pale hands were cradling his head in that way he so liked. Like a mother taking care of her lost, confused child. He didn't want to admit himself as such, but there was no hiding from her. Ever. She knew, before she was told. Se felt prior to being touched. Playing with his hair, twisting them around in her fingers, showing what? Gratitude? Thankfulness? Want? Respect? It didn't matter. 

In that moment, in that moment when he held her in his arms, aiding her in holding him back as well, the only thing worth talking about was her pleasant humming and moaning and whispering in her own strange language. Vowels formed into sentences and sentences fell into whole phrases, but he wasn't translating. He only listened to the peculiar wording and accepted it to heart. Shivers run down his spine each time she spoke, each time she rubbed herself against him, each time she whined, wanting more of him on her body. Constant, unyielding shudders, just like the sea trembles under the wind's cruel play, surged through him, alleviating him off the tension of the news Thor had delivered. 

She was the only things that anchored him to sanity. That tied him to the need to stay calm and cool, not to give into the rage and violence of the moment. And thank the heavens she did, because his rage could turn violent and his violence knew no limits when enraged. He concentrated on his breathing, inhaling the citrus, exhaling the rum. Taking in the heat between her legs, exhaling the undertones of lemon and vanilla. This perfume of hers would be his end... he knew it... he just knew it... 

“What do you need, handsome?”, she whispered in his ear, like a siren, luring Odysseus into the unforgiving, purging depths of the deep blue sea. There was determination in her tone, no guile, no trick, just an underlying decisiveness that made his breath come out shaky. Has she figured it all out in that pretty head of hers? Already? Whose the mind reader here, I wonder... 

“What do you mean?”, he breathed through her hair, eyebrows furrowed in mental pain, pain he didn't wish for her to lay eyes upon, but couldn't escape the fact that she would anyway. That was how she was.

Cruel with the world, gentle with him. Idle towards people, but damn it, so sweet and kind and helpful and just there, for him.

“Something is bothering you. Your hands were shaking”, she stated, not an ounce of doubt in her voice, “I will not ask what it is. Tell me at your own time. But please... please... let me help you”, she pleaded, her lips brushing against his hot, flushed neck, “Please. Let me do something for you. You've done so much for me already... it's not fair. Let me...”. 

_I sense things_ , that's what she had told him earlier this evening, but he knew it was a great deal more than that. Her empathy ran so deep, it was almost part of her blood system. A trait she could not shake no matter how hard she tried. But she wasn't attempting to vanquish it with him. She was letting it roam free. Magic trapped in a human body. She cared. She cared about him, perhaps more so than she cared about herself.

“Oh, Andrea... Andrea... Andrea...”, he kept murmuring in short intervals, his eyes flattering shut with each syllable of her beautiful name. He tightened his grip on her body, careless as to how she would interpret it. He couldn't bother with thinking about that right now. She was there. And she was so deliciously juicy and... his. Her ass was a dream, a nice, warm, wet dream as he squeezed it in the palm of his hand, fingers digging into the rough fabric of her jeans. 

“Tell me. Please, tell me”, she pressed, her own fingers tangling in his hair, pulling at him rougher, trying to restore him to the epitome of control and impeccable composure. 

He breathed out and with the remaining strength he had stored inside him, he asked, “Would you put me to sleep tonight, little dancer? We have a lot to talk about tomorrow. And I'm not really looking forward to it, if I...”, a pause, just enough for him to sigh in resignation, “... if I have to be honest”. 

Her only answer was a hurried ''mhm hm'' and then she was climbing down off him, carefully and with precision. He helped her as much as he could to get back down on her feet, with the little strength he had left in his arms. How could he feel so weak? He, whose physical endurance was not alike a simple human's. How could bad news bring about such morose and morbid feelings? He thought about all that as she set steady feet upon the floor, avoiding her eyes as much as possible. He didn't know what showed in his own and the fear of her finding out before him... But she would have none of that. 

Andrea placed hot palms on either side of his neck and guided his face towards her with thumbs on his jawline. A concerned expression altered the bold features of her face, making that wrinkle between her eyebrows go dark and more determined than ever. But aside from that, she didn't let anything else show. He didn't need her pity or her worry. He needed her to put him to sleep and she knew exactly how to do that. 

She nodded her understanding, more to reassure herself than him, and without another word, she took his hand and dragged him to the bed, where she made quick work of pulling the covers down and puffing the pillows to perfection. Then, turning to him again, she slid her hands down his chest and helped him out of his heavy woollen sweater and under shirt, while he discarded his shoes and unzipped his trousers. Usually, such intimate acts would have taken all of her courage to be performed, but being brave was the last thing on her mind right now. 

For the sake of saving time and getting to bed that much faster, Andrea undressed in quick motions and really ungracefully down to her black sports bra and panties, the panties that had been soaked earlier this day by his boot trick and playful smirk. She could of course leave him for a bit and go change, but she knew him to be the type to get comforted by the smell of things. Soon, her womanly scent would reach him and maybe, just maybe, cloud his brain enough to relax him in her arms. He was utterly shuttered, but on edge and looking into his eyes, she spotted a kind of exhausted vulnerability that triggered her into believing the worst. 

“Andrea?”, he called then and there was a particular weakness in the way he said the name that had her worrying even more.   
Her brows arched, her hands quickly coming up to lay flat on his chest, reassuring him with a gentle rub, “Yeah?”. 

“Would you stay like that for me tonight?”, he dragged his eyes down her figure, silently, pleadingly. 

“Obviously”, she gasped, almost snorting at the stupidity of the question, but when exactly, at what point in their relationship had this small request become a casual commodity? _Did I just say obviously?_

“Thank you”, he murmured, seemingly unaware of the same thing as her. When had this defining alteration taken place? Where were they? Perhaps she always slept with him in her underwear and neither had noticed. It would make sense. They had fallen into such a comfortable co-existence that the mere thought of sleeping clothed must have sounded absurd. _What are you on Laufeyson? Stupidest thing..._

Suddenly his hand came up, waving weird signs towards the four floor to ceiling windows. She heard the rustling of heavy fabric and when she turned around, all the curtains had been pulled, shutting away the city lights. The next sound was a bit more final. Locks. Big ones from the sound of their clicking. A distinct sound that was heard about five or six times. Perhaps the windows could be locked as well, apart from the terrace and entrance door. Loki was murmuring now in a strange language. Some incantation that made his eyes glaze with a greener shimmer, sinister and threatening to look at directly. She locked her gaze on those different eyes, not turning away until they settled back into their cold, piercing blue. Her lips parted, wanting to say something, but nothing came out. Why? Why did he lock them in like that? Did he not feel safe? What had Thor told him exactly? When?

“Do not worry, darling. All is well”, he reassured then, but his voice was quite distant and weary, “I promise we'll talk about it all in the morning”. 

“All? Including what's bothering you so much right now?”. 

“Oh, especially that. In fact, it'll be the main topic of the conversation, rest assured”, he informed, a little amusement breaking through the exhaustion. 

“Is it bad?”. 

“It's not something major”. 

That's not at all reassuring, she thought to herself, but did not dwell on it. If he said they would talk about it tomorrow then it should not distract her from the present any longer, “Alright. Sleep first, okay?

Everything is clearer after a good night's sleep. Come on”.

He chuckled at that, the advice so motherly and caring that it made him want to obey like a good son. With a kiss on her forehead, he collapsed, taking her with him by the shoulders and after that short tumble which earned him a hard slap on the chest and a few sweet curse words, she set him straight and covered him with as many blankets as she had in her disposal, as if he would somehow get cold during the night. She got under them beside him, but when he moved closer to wrap his arm around her, she put a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushed him away, nodding negatively. 

“Turning me down tonight?”, he inquired quietly. He didn't mean it to come out like that. So hurt and abandoned. But his mood was affecting everything. His posture, his voice, his very thoughts. 

“I'm not turning you down”, she giggled, a small yawn following suit. Her own tiredness was starting to kick in, “I'm turning you over”. She added through it and waved her hand at him to do as he was told. 

“May I ask why?”, he muttered, supporting himself on his hands and flipping onto the other side, facing away from her. 

Before he heard her answer, he felt her body. Hot and cool, hard and soft at the same time, as she brought herself closer, scooting a bit up on the bed so that she loomed over him. She got comfortable behind him, connecting her front to his back with care and thoughtfulness. No urgency in her motion, no need to demonstrate authority over him. No need to point out how weak he felt and how strong she could be for both of them. Her arms came around him, one snaking over and around his middle, moist, sweaty palm finding the expanse of his chest and laying there, rubbing soothingly in tandem with the beat of his heart.

The other, careful and precise, sneaked under his neck and gently cradled his head, forearm and palm covering his upper body protectively as they stretched and anchored themselves to every bit of skin they could get access to. As she brushed his raven mane back, tucking the strands behind his ears to expose his pale, tired face and made quick work of tangling their legs together, producing that beautiful warmth that feels divine when accompanied by the sweet promise of sleep, he lay still as a corpse, not sure if he should embrace her back, uncertain if he should do anything at all, but surrender his mind and body to the sensations she caused him. 

In a mess of limbs, flushed skin, drowsiness and comfort, he felt himself slipping away to a faraway land, where all was soft and nothing hurt. Bodies safely tucked against each other, expelling loneliness and melancholy, he was overcome by contentment and relaxation in mere seconds. All because of her touch, the protection she offered and the undying devotion she so clearly exhibited. His emotion intensified when he sensed steaming hot lips touching the back of his bare neck, soft and plump and just a bit wet, as if she had recently licked them. Ages seemed to have passed until her melodic voice reached his ears. 

“Because... and forgive me if I'm wrong...”, she began, simultaneously dragging the blankets up to cover both of their bodies better, “... I'm not the one who needs to feel safe tonight”. 

His breath came out shaky as he let it out, not sure why he'd been holding it in for that long. He thought he shivered, but it was but a plain tremble of muscle, ricocheted by the whispery timbre of her voice, her words like secret enchantments dripping from her lips directly into his ear. He sighed a sigh that sounded so full of unresolved tension, even pain. 

His reaction only served as confirmation that she was right in her theory. He did feel unsafe and although he had promised to explain tomorrow, her heart ached for him. He said nothing else for the time being, simply laid limp in her arms. She caressed the hairs at the centre of his chest, dark grey, unruly wires, sparse and scarce and with each swirl of her long fingers, his breath slowed down even more, the gradual, great impact of her softness and affection as she cuddled him close, coercing him further and further into deep slumber. Eventually, his brain shut down and he lay completely still, his chest rising just barely with each intake of air and soon she joined in, the exertion of the day and its revelations, finally taking hold of her.

At some point during the night, he stirred so abruptly that she instantly jumped out of sleep to attention. She removed her hand from his chest to rub at her eyes quickly, trying to restore her vision to at least a better level. And that was when she saw the God of Mischief do the uncanniest thing one would expect him to do.

Sweaty, as he had probably become during the night, and uncovered, as he had kicked the blankets at the bottom of the bed, Loki was overtaken by a terrible shake, a violent trembling that had him drawing his lower body close to his upper, folding himself in half. His legs came up to his chest, shoulders crouched above them as if he meant to protect what hid in his stomach. His arms, quivering and tinged blue, as it seemed to her, hugged around his knees, sealing him completely into a fetal position. 

He mumbled too, something unintelligible at first, but seconds later, when she concentrated harder, she heard her name. He was uttering it fearfully, as if speaking it out loud would save him from... what? A nightmare? A threat existing inside his own head? A physical danger that she couldn't spot inside the room now that everything was dark? 

His voice was so small, so unrestrained and sleepy, resembling the immature voice of a boy, a boy lost in a big crowd without his mother and nobody familiar to take him by the hand and lead him back to her. A tear managed to slip from the corner of her eye at the thought of it, but she wiped it away quickly and convinced herself that she ought to be strong for both of them, even if she was unaware of the reason behind this unexpected behaviour. 

The shaking stopped immediately when she whispered in his ear, gently and slowly, trying to hold onto the belief that her words would reach him in his sleep. She didn't know what possessed her, but she ditched English and spoke to him in her native language. They were no more than little, strangely uttered sweet nothings, voiced in a complex vortex of vowels and combined letters. Kardia mou, they said. My heart. And much more. 

And all the while her hands worked on relaxing him, pulling at his steely hard limbs, one by one, until he finally let go. She unfurled him carefully, turning him, pushing him onto his stomach and bringing his arms up to place them on either side of his head on the pillow. He was much heavier when unconscious, she observed. She brushed the hair away, exposing his paler than usual face and sweaty brow, the pained expression formed by the bowed wrinkles on his forehead. Now he lay stretched out, flat upon the mattress, his head turned to the side, muscles still tense and breathing still uneasy. 

Hastily, she gathered the blankets he had kicked off and pulled at them to cover him up to the waist, quickly getting herself under them as well. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she brought her leg up and draped it over his ass, rubbing at him with her calf to warm the soft skin as much as she could. The motion didn't even seem peculiar, she was guided by instinct, the only thought in her mind, my man is suffering, I have to make it better. Supporting herself solely on her arms on either side of his upper section, she lowered her body down with tenderness until there was no space between the bones and the flesh. She moulded herself behind him, not knowing why she did what she did, acting only under her sharp need to take his fear away. Small breasts, covered by a flimsy piece of protection rubbing against his back, her leg doing a fair job of engulfing him in warmth and security, her fingers already massaging the back of his scalp, she hoped, hoped and prayed that he felt at least a bit safer. 

“Andrea...”, he breathed out suddenly, setting her nerves on fire. 

“I'm here... I'm here... shh... I'm here”, she mumbled immediately, grinding her hips against his ass, needing him to feel the hotness between her legs touch and penetrate his skin, “I'm here... go back to sleep...”. 

Before she even knew what came over her, she was twining their hands and her lips... her lips were peppering his back and shoulder blades with tiny, urgent kisses, soft and feather like, similar to the wings of a butterfly gliding against one's skin. The little smooching sounds she made as she placed kiss after kiss on the blank canvas of his back didn't even register as a new experience. Odd, since she had never done such a thing before, but strangely comforting to realise that it filled her with a purpose so pure and a joy so full and unwavering. I'm just comforting him... why does it feel like... more?

He responded instantly to the feeling, squeezing her hand through her tender hold, his knuckles going white from the effort and the pressure. Deep breaths, a slight tremble of his forearms and then he exhaled audibly, releasing whatever he had been holding inside all night, going limp and welcoming her full weight upon his back. She never remembered herself being more grateful than in this moment, when just his stabilized breathing was making her moan in relief. 

“You're okay, handsome”, she whispered one last time, brushing her lips hastily over the long bones of his shoulder blades, “I've got you...”.

 

 

 

 


	26. on the mend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea and Loki sit down and try to decide what they are going to do about the invite that's been thrown at their feet. In the meantime, they get the opportunity to solve some other matters that happen to pop up as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! Sorry for the delay (again), I'm on vacation and as it appears my body refuses to cooperate with me and chooses to sleep all the time! So sorry about that. I wanted to get the chapter up at like, 7 o'clock in the morning, but it couldn't happen. Also, sooo many people in the house coming and going through this door and that door, entering, leaving, and fuck! I have not a moment of quiet. Anyway, enough with the rant. So, this chapter, I suppose, could be considered a little boring, because nothing happens. It picks up from Andrea's dance on Sunday evening, whereupon they simply sit down and talk about this and that, but oh my god, the heaviness and meaning of that ''this'' and that ''that''. Poor little beans are going to confide a lot in each other. Can't wait to hear your opinions! I also apologise for any syntax mistakes or typos, I didn't really have much time to edit properly. 
> 
> **As always, pictures are burrowed from the web, pinterest in specific, so their rights belong to their respective owners. No explanations to any pics for today, it's all pretty pretty pretty clear. In truth, it's only one and it doesn't really match to the chapter, but what the hell! It's beautiful! So go ahead! 
> 
> I'd like to give all of you a special thanks (again, yes, because I'm feeling really grateful), for sticking around for such a long time. Some of you are here, supporting and reading this story since the beginning and what amazes me the most is that you haven't stopped. You have no idea what an honour this is to me, no idea. It's the sweetest validation that perhaps I don't write shit after all and that perhaps my story has some kind of... I don't know how to phrase it. Value. It has some kind of value. So thank you truly! I know it must sound weak and pathetic but without a lovely comment here and there and without your encouragement with all those hits (this fic is so freaking close to 6000!!!), I wouldn't have continued writing. So, many many thanks!

_Back to Sunday evening_...

 

 

After that dance, her temperature was beginning to drop quickly and the somewhat cool air, plus the unexpected humidity lingering in the atmosphere of the penthouse, would probably have her sneeze and wheeze in just a matter of seconds, if she didn't change into something warmer than plain lacy undies. She had started shivering a little a couple of minutes ago, the sweat now becoming sticky upon her skin as Loki roamed his hands over her back and neck. Yet only when she brought her own palms up to rub at her shoulders and forearms did he break out of his dreamy ecstasy, his eyes refocusing on the spots she touched in sudden realisation.

He leaned forward and took off the long sleeved, olive coloured t-shirt he wore and held it open and stretched above her prettily messed up, curly head, “Here, arms up, little one. I don't want you catching a cold”.

She did as she was told, bending her head to help him put it on her easier, but did not fail to ask, “And you won't?”. She passed her arms through the sleeves, delicate fingers slowly darting out of the edges. She wiggled them playfully and pulled a funny face at him.

He chuckled, “No. Cold' s my natural temperature”.

 _Is it?_ , Andrea thought in worry, her thoughts running back to last night, when he had been shaking on the bed, like a fish out of the water. Maybe he was having a nightmare, maybe he wasn't. Either way, she wouldn't utter a word about having seen him like this. It would break his spirit, reduce him to believing himself weak and unprotected, even though he definitely wasn't. Perhaps it would even make him reconsider how she saw him. As a man, a God, a lover, because for all his cunning, knowledge, wisdom and skill, Loki was insecure about almost everything concerning emotion. Almost as insecure as she was when it came down to showing said emotion. Watching him last night, trembling, quivering like that, opened her eyes to the fact that she wasn't the only one with a past that weighted heavy.

“Do you know I was there the first time you danced to that song?”, he interrupted her thoughts, voicing the question more as a statement.

With her head all sort of messed up, thoughts, worries about the previous night coming and going, she didn't quite caught on with his implication.

“At the... at that... underground? How were you even... You were there?”, she questioned, the memories of that night coming back sparsely, “I didn't see you”.

“Well, of course you didn't. You were too busy thrusting your hips and charming every man in the room”, he filled in for her, teasing the waistband of her black panties with his thumbs, rolling the fabric back and forth, exposing and hiding, uncovering and shielding away the bit of skin on her pelvic bones.

She blushed red and giggled that stupid, school girl squeal that she never recognized coming out of her mouth. Hiding her face in her hands for the hundredth time, she mumbled, “Stop it... oh my... did you know I would be there? Did you follow me?”.

“No. I was passing by on my way to the club, to see you dance, when I heard a girl whining and bitching over a very special little witch, present in that hovel, who had apparently put all the men under her spell. Including hers”, he mused, gently prying her fingers off her eyes and nose, “It peaked my curiosity, so I went in and there you were. I ended up enjoying you twice in a single night”.

“She called me a witch?”, was the first thing she thought of saying, making him chuckle delightfully. He nodded yes.

“Did you know that girl? Is she from your course?”.

“Yes”, she confirmed, her face contorting into a displeased frown as she remembered _all about_ that specific girl, “Katherine. That's her name. But I don't want to talk about her now, okay?”.

Loki blinked in understanding, not pushing the subject any further. When she realised that she had his permission to change the topic, she continued talking, but in a lighter tone, attempting to bring back that dreamy joy from milliseconds ago, that giggling joy of just being with each other.

“You know... I kind of sensed someone watching me... from... from somewhere in the shadows. It was spooky. Like that feeling you get when you know someone is behind the door, but when you open it... there's nobody there. You spooked me out, you damn heathen. Are you happy with yourself?”, she teased, faking that somehow her dignity had been diminished.

A wicked, drawn out laugh clawed its way out of his throat, joyful and clearly full of satisfaction. She found herself grateful of its slightly mocking sound, plainly because it echoed so differently from the mumblings of the lost, motherless boy he'd been last night. She had an impact on him. She was capable of distracting him, making him laugh, even if all she had in her armoury was snobbish humour and teasing jokes...

“You're sleeping with that damn heathen...”, he remarked through weak remnants of chuckles.

“Yeah, well, what can I say. It's a handsome heathen. It must have lured me into its bed and now... now I can't climb off it”.

Another boot of chuckles and she was amazed by how easily he threw his head back, exposing that long throat of his, the column trembling from the force of the reverberation within.

“Am I even _that_ funny or are you just indulging me?”, she chided, landing a hard slap on his chest to bring him back to attention. He barely contorted his features. So weak and sweet was the blow.

“Oh, you are, little dancer. Adorable with those lovely fingers, interlacing anxiously. So funny, so flustered, so wanton. A pure diamond in its raw form. Unspoilt, untouched. All mine”.

She would be lying if she said that this kind of praise was expected in that specific moment, but without a moment of hesitation she beamed at it, her face red and glowy at the luscious words. And his eyes... never abandoning her own. Always finding that gaze and holding it, as if he wished to catch the reactions whilst uttering those beautiful phrases he liked bathing her in. His tongue was producing such sweetness, such tenderness, and yet his eyes, those infinitely blue orbs fucked her right through each and every time.

“Did you like it that night?”, she breathed out, emboldened in a flash, “How I danced? When I thought nobody was watching?”. _A pure diamond in its raw form_... _so wanton_... _funny_... _all mine..._

His demeanour changed then. The wrinkles around his eyes disappeared, melted back into his skin and the eyes that penetrated her body and soul, squinted, dark pupils blown wide. It was as if the memory of her dancing ignited some kind of psychic, sexual spark, as if it charged his oppressed desire for physicality to a level beyond what he could control. And the lack of that control showed in his features. In the way his brow lifted. In the smirk that sliced through the hard line of his mouth. It was even in the way he straightened his back and flexed his shoulders. In how his hands travelled from the mountains of her thighs up to the valley of her waist. Instinctively she arched into him, making her body a stretched bow, subconsciously begging him to dig his fingers into the ample flesh she had to offer. Shy as always, she caught herself wanting to shut her thighs, but what with having spread herself on his lap, it was impossible.

“I didn't just like it, Andrea”, his voice reached her, dark, like distilled honey and ravenous like an animal's growl. But if it sounded so feral to her ears, then why was it also so soft and gentle?, “You made me want to eat you up. You forced me into thinking I should abduct you, bring you here and never let you see the light of day again. I knew in that moment that I would have you dancing for me no matter what”.

To her great surprise, instead of shimmying away, shifting her gaze to avoid the fire in his own, she stood still, a playful grin breaking through her sweaty lips. Why was she reacting like this? _Where is myself? What have I done with it? Why is he breathing faster?_

“And when exactly...”, she started arguing, her fingers tangling in his hair and tugging his head back on their own accord, as if her brain took no part in the decisions any more, “... did the concept of me giving my consent to all that reach your mind?”.

“Oh, I can assure you, that came much later”, he answered, not even an ounce of shame colouring his sharp cheeks.

Her grin turned into a malicious smile, “Did you just admit that you imagined having your way with me whenever the mood struck you?”. _Did that just come out of my mouth?_

“Would it scare you if I said that I still do?”, he whispered, their lips so close that their suddenly sped up breathing mingled in a hot, delicious mess of steam and promise.

The statement caught her off guard, but she suppressed an indignant gasp and held her ground, more aroused than terrified by the truth in his words. Her cheeks felt scorched and she feared that if she kept looking at him straight in the eye, she would soon lose her resolve. Nevertheless, she summoned her courage, already dipped in shame to the knee, and let her reply roll off her tongue as naturally as possible.

“No. It wouldn't. It doesn't. But I can see that when I'm sitting on top of you, getting you all hot and horny, you tend to admit things. So, without further due, would you like to tell me what got you so upset last night?”.

He scoffed in response. The dreamy, dark shimmer in his gaze extinguishing itself instantly, as he rolled his eyes and flopped back down on the couch, his shoulders producing a hissing thump as they slumped against the leather. With a groan, he bent his neck backwards, exposing that long, endless throat of his, his Adam's apple enticingly popping out and flexing peculiarly as he spoke.

“Must you ruin the mood?”, he grumbled, swallowing thickly.

“I'm not ruining the mood”, she protested, leaning closer to eye his throat better, fascinated by how the skin stretched to cover the fragile bones, “I'm just trying to create a better one, so that we can talk about things we don't want to talk about”.

“Are you now? When did you get so brave and chatty? You're barely talking to _me_ sometimes”.

There it was. Another foul mood swing, this time not restrained, but directed at her in the most sneering tone of voice. Along with his emotion, his sense of security, his words and manners had changed likewise. Extra validation that whatever was bothering him was serious as hell.

The part of her, where sensitivity lingered and often tortured her, wanted to cry soundless tears. Her lips were already quivering to confirm the fact. In the past, Andrea's old self would have cowered and backed away from such an uncaring behaviour, from such an uncaring individual. The comment would have stung, interpreted as an insult, resulting in her shutting her mouth and politely making herself disappear from the view of the person she had pissed off. She would have actually avoided bringing it up at any other time in the future as well, believing that if she did the resistance would be even more hurtful. When she was hurt she got angry. And when she got angry... Her subservient, closed off personality would have made her refrain from even looking at him, much less speak to him and just like that they would be back at the start, when she had no voice and no courage in her to tell him her mind.

She would have banned her own self out.

But all that was exactly _that_. The past. Now, after all they've been through together, after everything they had shared and everything they were bound to share in the near future, after the lessons and the hardships and the pain they had allowed themselves to reveal, shyness and affection be damned, she wouldn't let it slide just like that. Not because he had wounded her with his irony, his standoffishness, but because he was better than this. When he slacked, it was her job to remind him of that fact and get her answers like the confident woman he had helped her grow into.

With the utmost gentleness she caressed the column of his throat with her knuckles, sighing heavily in preparation for the scolding. She hated herself sometimes for being so straight forward, wished that she could find tenderest ways of showing people their mistakes. Under these circumstances though, she had to find a balance between the two behaviours, attempting to make him see his wrong with his own eyes, instead of down right accuse him.

One of the many mornings they'd lain in bed together, she had managed to discover the pulse point that tickled him the most and so used it to her advantage. She sat up, her knees burying deeper into the harsh surface of the couch, and slid her hand from the front to the back of his neck, her thumb hovering over the little nerve under his ear that was the tickliest. It was almost at the end of his sharp jawline, behind the bone that artistically protruded. She pressed it lightly and in response he parted his lips, but other than that, nothing. He kept staring at a random spot at the ceiling, anxiously going over it with his gaze again and again, as if he was gazing up at peculiarly shaped constellations that he couldn't figure out.

Her next move was meaner, harsher, in a way, but justified. His horniness was the only tool in her collection that would probably make his tongue looser. As discreetly as possible, her hips started a slow grind, a shy dance that hit him right in that very evident bulge of his. She was barely moving, but the intensity in her eyes would be more than enough to cover what she lacked in body motion.

In return, he hissed, discomforted and confused and that's when she tugged at his hair, jerking his head upright so fast that he might have seen double for a moment. Despite his disorientation and lost look, she held him there and leaned forward, letting her cheek slide against his, the defined bones crashing softly against each other.

“Oh, fuck...”, she heard him curse under his breath, a loud exhale escaping, a little hitched and short. She wasn't sure why he said it at first, but when he started repeating it breathlessly, each time quieter and slower, she realised that he was probably beginning to understand his fault, “Oh... fuck, fuck, fuck...”.

“I know you're stressed about something. And I know that me bothering you, making you think about it is not ideal, but...”, she said, her lips brushing over the shell of his ear, “... but insolence, handsome... will get you nowhere. Not with me at least”.

“Fuck, little one. I'm so... I'm so sorry. Fuck. I'm sorry”, he blurted out the minute she finished her sentence. His face was shoved against the hard bone of her collar, contorted in regret and frozen with pain. _What the fuck are you doing Laufeyson? What the fuck are you doing?_

Andrea drew back slowly, intentionally bumping her nose against his own, letting her hot lips hover over his jaw. Just slightly, she pulled at his hair to force him to look at her, to make him realise with her eyes and fiercely kneaded eye brows that what he had said hadn't been taken well. He obeyed, wincing a little, but she couldn't be sure if it was from the pain at the back of his skull or the guilt, clearly portrayed in his dark features. Their eyes locked, hers dead serious and steely, his, hurt and just a bit vulnerable.

Once again, like that night when she had danced solely for him in the apartment, he was easily falling into submissive behaviour, so unexpected but becoming, that it set her heart on fire for reasons she couldn't quite name, much less comprehend. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she had complete power over him, or the fact that he was under her mercy, what with his big, guilty eyes and his poor member, heated and jumping excitedly between her spread thighs. For a minute, she took pity of him, considering the possibility that she was being too cruel. This man knew he was in trouble and thanks to both his intelligence and her courageous forcefulness, he had understood where he'd done wrong. On the other hand though, she had to get her point across and no baby blue eyes or sorrowfully raised eyebrows were going to manipulate her out of it.

“Don't ''little one'' me. No '' little dancer''. No ''love'' and such. When you're apologising to me, it's Andrea. It's _always_ Andrea”, she stated, her voice matching the iron in her eyes. Leaning forward sultrily, she placed a chaste kiss on his jaw and almost let her resolve break when she heard him suck his breath in.

Altogether she let him go, sitting back on his thighs, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips like an angry, petulant child, waiting for her owed apology. But that stance didn't last long, once she witnessed how contrite and regretful his expression was. She couldn't help but soften her face, a bit guilty of ordering him so intensely. _No. No. Don't you dare think that. You should be slapping the hell out of him. Chastising him is a blessing. He got off easy..._

He had promised last night they would talk, because he was in deep need of her point of view, her counsel, her sweet touch, and yet here he was, throwing ironic remarks at her, when all she was trying to accomplish was make him feel as comfortable as possible. Bless her for showing him who he was speaking with and for putting him into place, when all he falsely cared about was skulking and frankly, be an uncaring arsehole.

“I'm sorry”, he whispered, his eyes falling shut.

He lowered his head in defeat, resting it lightly on her stomach, practically bowing his upper body over her parted lap, silently surrendering to her will and judgement. In his tortured mind, it was all crystal clear now and her gentle accusation seemed more than justified. The stirring pain in his loins was enough to jerk him back to attention and make him realise the hurtfulness of his tongue, her stinging words that followed, the perfect slap he needed in order to see his fault and amend it promptly.

“I'm sorry Andrea. Damn it, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean that. I didn't mean it at all”, he apologised, his arms circling her waist tenderly to pull her closer, “I'm not in my right mind today. I shouldn't have said that. Please don't be mad at me. I really didn't-”.

“Hey, hey... handsome, calm down”, she cooed softly, twining her fingers in his hair, using the pressure of the pads to scratch his skull soothingly, “I know you didn't. I know your head must be a mess right now, that's why I pulled you out of it”.

“Thank you, my love. Thank you. And you must always do so. Never let me be cruel and dispassionate and this moody. Never. Not to you. I'm not like that any more, I've changed”, he added, almost urgently, tightening his grip around her, nuzzling his forehead against her stomach and covered breasts.

The way he crouched into her embrace, as if wishing to appear smaller and insignificant, the trailing off of his voice... It reminded her again of the lost boy, bringing his knees up to his chest to find warmth and comfort. It tugged at her heart, that image, and she instantly made the decision of remedying the mood. Of restoring it to the sensuality and relaxation it harboured before.

“It's okay, don't worry, handsome. I promise I will. But... I kind of need a favour right now...”.

His head jerked up, eyes beaming with hopefulness, “Anything. Tell me. What is it?”.

An impish, ridiculous expression danced across her face, cheeks flaming hot as she tried to push herself to ask. It was a really aching need, she had to admit so, but at the same time, it felt difficult to request it, “Could you... since your hands are there and I can't... I can't easily reach... could you... unclasp my... my bra... It's digging into my ribcage already”.

Apparently, her plea brought some humour into the apologetic atmosphere for he smiled delightfully, as if she had asked him to buy her the most expensive coat on the market, which he would definitely do given the chance. She was grateful to see his lips stretch like that, his face easing into a more comforted expression. His appreciative huff was a sound sent from the heavens, as he leaned forward to complete his task of redemption.

“Can't say no to that, now can I, love?”.

In the time of a heartbeat, she felt warm hands roaming over her sides and back muscles under the cotton shirt. Strong hands that massaged her with gentleness, making her ponder once again, _how can his hands be so rough but so tender._ Dexterous fingers rubbing into her straw coloured skin, receding its expanses and then letting them crest back, like waves upon the shore. Oh, those huge, lovely, manly hands, calloused at certain areas and extremely soft at others, meeting behind her to do such a tiny little thing as unclasping the little strangler that held her poor breasts up and squished together. A hurried rustling sound followed, as he fumbled with the clasp and then, free at last. Dramatic, as she always was, about the constraining, bone shuttering feeling of bras, she drew in a deep breath, thanked her saviour twice and shrugged out of it hastily, not wanting it touching her any longer than it had to. She passed the straps through her arms inside her sleeves and expertly pulled it under the t-shirt. It fell exactly onto Loki's bulge, from where she retrieved it and threw it behind her back, not caring where it would land.

“Better?”, he inquired, one eyebrow up in questioning.

“Oh, you can't imagine”, she beamed, not failing to notice that even though the little black torturer was out of the way, his hands had stayed in place, not wavering from her naked back.

For just a split second, the dubious thought that he would somehow stop caring about everything and slide them up front, blurred her mind. She briefly imagined him, all stern and authoritative, tenderly palming her breasts into relaxation, until they were rosy and plump and soft again. Thus when he started rubbing from her back to the side and then the underside of her two small treasures, she felt as if she was being jolted back into a situation that had begun as a wistful unreality, existing only in her dirty imagination, only to realise that it had actually become... a reality.

“These things leave a mark on you, do you know that?”, he stated, tracing the raw lines with his fingertips.

“They are bras. That's what they do. They put so much... pressure around my... thorax... that I... that I have to... oh, Loki...”, her mouth gaped as he circled the reddened flesh slowly, smoothly, “... that I have to take a breath just to... just to make sure... that I can... fuck... aw... aw... that feels...”, she finished her sentence with a strangled moan as she began feeling the blood flow regularly again around her now swollen breasts. Her embarrassment burned hot, but so did his hands and they felt...

 

They felt so damn good as they worked ceaselessly, relieving her bit by bit off the unnecessary pressure around her torso, rubbing, probing, skimming and always, always staying away from the most intimate parts. He massaged the sections around, never venturing to touch her up front, but it somehow made her feel well altogether, almost as if his hands were everywhere. Knowing that he was giving her something like this while respecting the limits she had silently set... She didn't really have a mind any more to stay ashamed for long. On the contrary, she found herself arching towards him, pushing her chest forward in search of more of that delicious treatment. Her nerves exploded with happiness, her brain cells erupted in colours and sensations, her blood pumped faster and she mistook its reaction as being on edge, but no. Her body was limp and pliant and at his complete mercy, the endings of her tendons relaxing to such extent that she felt them turn into liquid.

“I know... I know what you're doing...”, she accused breathlessly, “... you're distracting me from... from... aw”.

The intimacy of that simple, unconditional act of care taking came so lucidly, so naturally that she caught herself wondering why had he not touched her there sooner. Somewhere inside her head, a voice shouted, _wake up you whore, he's all over your intimates_ , but it was such an annoying, shrilling voice that she muted it instantly and decided instead to melt against him, surrendering to the things he excited with his touch. Somewhere in the background he chuckled, but it was distant and low and she didn't give it much attention. She only kept pushing her breasts towards his face, as a reminder, just in case he got tired and chose to slack.

“Would you be so eager if I told you we're being watched?”, he muttered after a while, his voice colourless and devoid of any kind of emotion or teasing lilt.

The chill that pierced her could not be put into words. So icy and dreadful that it probably escaped her body and penetrated his as well. He must have felt it, because he tightened his grip around her torso and smiled up at her. It was barely a twitch of lips, forming that grin she wanted to wipe away. But like his voice, it was empty, but its melancholy.

She swallowed thickly and braced herself for a conversation _she_ now wanted to avoid, but it was too late. Putting her hands above his, she dragged them down to their laps, already missing their warmth, but deeming the act essential. She felt bad for doing so, but she had to have full capacity of her brain and when he touched her like that, she only saw colours and thought in sensations. Words seemed like invisible ink on a white board.

“Last... last night... you locked everything and pulled the curtains shut”, she stated the obvious, as a reminder more to herself than to him. In truth, she was trying to make her brain function properly again for after the treatment, the attention he had paid her body, the neurones responsible for thinking and talking and deciding, were numb and stubbornly out of sorts.

“And checked the penthouse for bugs and cameras while you were sleeping”, he added, the grin faltering into an emotionless smirk, which lacked even that delicious malice in his heart.

“Did you find anything?”.

“No. Which means that whatever that bastard has got on us, he recorded outside the windows”.

 _Bastard? What bastard?_ , she thought, alarms going off in her head as the realisation hit hard. Loki truly believed it. Nothing eluded him. No. Never. Not this man. So he must be a hundred times right.

“I don't know what sort of equipment he's got at the moment. I've been away for two years. This is probably something new he's come up with during lonely nights when his secretary is not around to suck his cock”, he continued, almost spitting the words out, as if he resented them being in his mouth.

“Stark”, Andrea whispered, deducing the person from his rather vivid descriptions. She watched him nod his confirmation.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, little dancer, but I couldn't bring myself to”, he said then, rubbing at his lower lip with his forefinger, “I knew you deserved to know what you were probably getting into, but I just... I kept it from you. You had already too much to adjust to. This house, this new routine. Me. If I burdened you with this knowledge I would only be adding another worry in your mind and I didn't want that”.

“You don't have to explain yourself, Loki”, she smiled gently and reached for his hand, but as soon as her fingers made contact with his wrist, he drew it away, his face a mixture of pain and concern. If she could read his mind, she was sure she would find, _don't touch me when I'm like this_ , among the many thoughts of doom and destruction.

“Yes I do, Andrea darling”, he argued, his voice softer than his attitude. After about two agonising seconds of uncomfortable silence, he continued his explaining, “I might have read too much into it, I will admit that. I thought that perhaps it would make you weary, uncomfortable around me, not so easy or quick to trust me and I needed that, love. I needed your trust. I needed you to feel safe with me from day one, not gradually, not as time passed. I needed our minds aligned from the start. If I had told you I'm being watched, then none of these would have ever been possible”.

His confession made her ache so terribly that her breaths escaped her in short, inaudible gasps. Her heart was thumping in her chest, dancing to the tempo his words set, heartfelt explanations of what he hadn't dared to tell her. He almost never admitted needing anything, anyone, but now he was. So openly. So rawly. With a straight forwardness that spoke both of deep sentiment and desperation. Although she wasn't quite certain why the guilt. Why did he beat himself up for something that only started yesterday, maybe one or two days prior to that... And that is when it dawned on her.

“This... this has been going on for quite some time. Am I right?”, she asked sorrowfully, information he had given her weeks ago coming back to her mind like little pieces of memorabilia, surfaced from the bottom of a ship wreck, “I asked you once why they keep you under such close observation. Remember? When you didn't want to take me to the hospital. You said they don't trust you. But... do you mean to tell me that... for two years... they, Stark, the Avengers, who cares... they have been monitoring you? Recording you?”, she finished, her heart sinking a little at the thought of such a scenario.

When he nodded, bowing his head lower, that same heart shuttered. Despite his surrendering position though, she recognised the sings of his anger. Lips taut, compressed into a hard line, like a razor blade. Fists curled and shaking, similar to yesterday. Eyes, icy when he turned to the side to gaze out the window, fixing a lethal stare at something she clearly couldn't see. It was as if he was daring one of Stark' s devices to take a flying step closer to the windows.

“And for those two years, I didn't care. I didn't lift a finger to stop them. To stop _him_. There was no point in doing so. I was not planning on getting back to my old ways, even if that was what they believed when I permanently left. All I wanted was to go to a place, lay low, get lost, stop feeling. I'm fairly certain that all the surveillance footage they've got on me from that time is getting in and out of bars, drunk, or walking home with bottles I stole. Entering some whorehouse or fucking some call girl against an alley wall. I can imagine the fun they must have had”, he informed harshly in a distant, faraway voice.

He bent his head backwards, resting the back of his neck on the couch, his long throat on full display. Then he shrugged, as if the memories of his life meant nothing, “Why would I care about what they saw? I was only content to be away from them. Away from the constant indifference and disrespect. If they wished to point a camera at my face or watch me from some outer space satellite then... be my guest”.

She felt a wound somewhere inside her body. A tear of the skin, some leak in her vital organs. That was the closest she could get to describing her inner state. Something broke in her. Not the heart. It's not all about the heart, sometimes. It was something that perhaps had no matter, no shape, no texture.

How could she communicate how sorry she felt for him? How could she strip the pity off her voice and talk to him as an equal? How could she avoid making him feel less? Well, words couldn't do that for her.

 

She haunched her shoulders and folded her upper body, crouching herself against his chest. She laid her head on his chest, her ear glued to his skin, wishing to confirm that his heart was still beating. Her hands found their way around him, fingers caressing his ribs in a soothing rhythm that coaxed a pleasant shiver out of him. She wanted to cry, but sniffed it back and focused on him. Solely on him. A kiss, softly administered from her quivering lips at the centre of his chest and he exhaled sharply. She found a beat. Roaring and angry. He was the one opening himself up and yet _she_ felt insecure. _Is this enough to help him? Am I enough? Should I do more? Should I do less? I want to do more. I just don't know how..._

Loki brought his arms up, reciprocating the embrace yearningly, encircling her and holding her steady with his hands, as he stationed them firmly on her back. He cradled her like a little child, what with how she was crouched and small against him. A chuckle escaped him, perhaps a delayed ticklish reaction of her sweet, timid kiss, “What was that for?”.

“I realised I'm not the only one... ever... in this world... to feel lonely”.

“Have I made you sad?”, he cooed softly, the shared warmth between their bodies reaching deep inside him to lay its anchors and hooks. She nodded, breathing tremulously, her bob of locks tickling his skin.

“That was... such a lonely way of living, Loki. You never told me... I never understood that...”.

“It was a lonely life. In fact, even lonelier than the life I led before that, whilst still in Asgard”, he leaned forward to kiss her head, smoothing the cotton of her shirt with wide splayed fingers, “Until you, little dancer. Until I found somebody worthy to share it with. I hope I'm a good match. I'd hate it if you were forced to spend eternity with a moody, surly, former King. Thank the Norns, I'm none of those things, hm?”.

She giggled at that, a little kitten sound that vibrated against his chest and sparked him back to life. Nuzzling her nose lovingly through the sparse hairs between his pectorals, she mumbled, “If you weren't I wouldn't be here”.

“And precisely because you _are_ here, sharing a space, a bed, a life, your own self with me I couldn't allow this to go on. Stark' s obsession couldn't affect you too. I could not allow it. We both value our privacy, our time together. That bloody man is trespassing”.

“And so you...”, she urged him, sensing that there was more to this.

“And so I conjured a shield with my magic. It's a rather complicated spell that I weaved and activated the minute you stepped foot in here for the very first time”.

“The night you saved me...”.

“Exactly. It went up around us, guarding us thereafter from being seeing by unwanted eyes. It's not an illusion though, thus do not confuse it as such. It's a literal field of energy that keeps us invisible and that I put up each time I sense attention from our dearly beloved friend”, he thoroughly explained, keeping her close to his body the whole time, “But you see, my love, in order for this type of spell to work, I'm obliged to be alert and on guard at all times. The concentration I need to perform it is immense and when I'm with you... that concentration is shredded. At first, it wasn't as copious to divide the attention, but from some point on... it became impossible. When I'm with you Andrea, I stop worrying. I'm freer, looser, naked, vulnerable, so absolutely besotted with you that the spell wavers and we are left exposed, like nerves. I thought I was stronger. I thought I could keep it-”.

“Are you seriously going to apologise for liking me so much that you can't keep a spell up?”, she mocked good naturedly, making him scoff, but not ill mannerly, “Loki, please, _wake up_. None of this is your fault. You shouldn't even be forced to do such tiring magic in the first place. Not because of the likes of Stark”.

 _When I'm with you Andrea, I stop worrying... I'm naked, vulnerable, so absolutely besotted with you_..., her brain repeated, eyes stinging with unshed tears. How could he say those things so fluently, with such eloquence that they sounded as if they were a quotation from a book? How could _she_ force herself to contain her emotion? What she now realised, was pure love?

“I know, darling. But my sense of privacy, my need to give us an actual chance overshadowed my personal pride, this game of hunter and hunted that I've developed with Stark. At the time, the spell was the only way I knew, the only way I deemed worthy enough to keep us safe from his intrusive technology. In all honesty, I still don't know any other ways, but at least now I understand that the shield cannot be considered an option any more, because it was during one of those unguarded moments that he recorded footage of us. Walking on the street, probably towards your University and...”, he paused abruptly and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

When he spoke again, the four words that left his mouth were heavily coated in anger, “... and in our house”.

Andrea dreaded him saying that, but in some sense she had also been expecting it. The windows in this place were enormous. Stark wouldn't have even needed special tech or some satellite in order to snap his pictures and catch them on tape. A simple, amateur drone would be more than enough for him to have a peak inside the penthouse. To have a peak at them, in their bed, their couch, their kitchen, eating, touching, dressing, taking care of each other... _Oh God, why now? Why this? No, actually, why this too!._ She sighed heavily, struggling to keep her cool and she had to by any means available, because Loki was losing his own any minute now.

She squeezed him tighter and positioned her chin at the centre of his chest. Her neck was a little uncomfortable like that, but she needed to have eye contact and detaching her breasts from his stomach was not an option. He was just so warm and soft and nice...

“Are you one hundred percent sure about this?”.

“Unfortunately yes. Thor confirmed it last night, while we were up on the roof”, he said, recognising, a bit guiltily, that the last bit was actually a tiny white lie. He wanted to tell her the truth, but what if it ruined their trust? Letting her on on the fact that all this time he'd been all over her-.

“No, he didn't, you little liar”, Andrea giggled out, slapping his rib playfully, “Your hands were shaking before you saw him off”.

Loki's eyes popped open and for a short while, all he could do was stare down at her in utter disbelief. She was smiling. Actually smiling, as if more than content with uncovering his dirty secret with naught but a simple statement. Was she perhaps cat-fishing him? Had he just now betrayed his own self? _Minx_...

 

“For fuck's sake, little dancer. Have you swallowed a lie detector? Or are you secretly the Goddess of Mischief, hiding in plain sight amongst all the ignorant mortal beings?”, he muttered at last, tipping his head back in resignation, frantically running a hand over his mouth.

“Flattery, oh why, thank you. That's a nice method of distraction”, she commented evilly, taking that anxious hand of his in her own to place a soft kiss on his open palm, just as he had done on her many times before. Turned out, the spot tickled him as much as it did her.

“How long have you known?”, he asked, unable to hide the bit of insecurity from his tone. Small and vulnerable again. The combination that could have her heart in pieces in milliseconds.

“That you can read minds?”, she declared, rolling her eyes at the back of her head, as if it was some kind of weird mojo thing commonly known and used, “From maybe the second night you saw me at the club”.

“Truthfully?”, he shrieked, his eyebrows going up to meet his hairline in stunned shock.

“I'm observant, remember? I had... a hunch. A nudging thought. While I... sometimes, while I danced I thought some pretty bad things about myself. Your expression changed each and every time, as if it followed each insult I... threw at myself. And one time, even though it was really dark, I saw you flinch. The way I understood it, it wasn't a normal reaction for a man to have, when watching a girl dance on a pole”, she explained hesitantly, her rosy shyness openly displayed on her face.

“I hadn't realised you were watching me so closely”, he deduced and noticed the slightest nod of her head and the faintest smile stretching timidly on her lips.

“And then there was the whole ''when you dance, you talk to me and I listen'', which could be interpreted in more ways than one. I didn't doubt you were strictly talking about artistic expression, but... well, I sensed that it was more than that”, she continued.

“Reading between the lines, are we?”, he cajoled.

She blinked, her eyelashes flattering prettily, accepting the indirect praise, “The perks of studying literature. We also study people featured in it”.

“I've underestimated you, lover”, he stated boldly and a bit regretfully for he really had stupidly done so, “What was it that completely gave me away in the end?”.

“A combination of things, but mainly...”, she started, chewing at her lip nervously, “... you were saying the right thing more often than not. It was like you were reading right through me, which apparently you were, and adjusted your words so that I... I wouldn't get hurt, wouldn't be displeased, offended, sad. So that I understood your points and... so that you could sometimes correct me on things I was harsh on... mostly, on myself, but without me knowing that you were doing so. That's endearing, actually”.

“No, Andrea. It's not endearing. It's intrusive. It's as if I'm lowering myself to Stark' s level. I promise you I avoid doing it as much as I can, but still, you have every right to be mad at me. I will not try to change your mind-”.

“But I'm not mad”, she interjected, halting his babbling. He did that a lot today. She tightened her grip on him and straightened her back, looking at him straight in the eye so that he could see the honesty in her fierce green gaze, “I'm not”.

“How can you not be?”, he questioned, not fully believing her.

She gave a lopsided grin and braced herself for the elaboration, “Because, even though I' m really embarrassed by some of the things you might have heard, it doesn't change the fact that each time, you were just trying to help. And... and...”, she trailed off a bit, trying to find the best way to proceed, “Look, I'm not the easiest person to talk to. I know that. Nor am I quick to accept help and guidance from others. You know it, how proud I can get about stuff like that. Pride is not a good thing when you're trying to let someone in, now is it? So I can fully understand that it must be frustrating for you not knowing what to do, or what to say to me. Snooping a little around my brain, since you have the ability to do so, must have been a good temporary solution, until I've opened up more, right?”.

“Do not describe it as a solution, my love. It wasn't a solution. It's not. It has become a disgusting, intrusive habit and I can't apologise enough about it”, he breathed out, tiredness and regret darkening in the crease between his bushy eyebrows.

“But I don't need your apologies”, she argued, moving her hands from his sides up to either side of his neck, “I don't, because then I should start apologising too for not telling you things I should definitely tell you about me”. That silenced the protest inside him and when she figured that all thoughts of arguing had vanished from his mind, she went on, explaining her point.

“You see, I... I have some burdens and I have some secrets which are too... too painful for me to tell just yet. They all belong in the past but the feelings they incite sometimes mess up even the good things in my life. I don't know if that's because they are left unspoken, or because I'm such a coward that I push them at the far back of my head, pretending like they never happened, but I can't do anything about it at this point. I will, in the future, I promise. I will tell you everything you want to know. It has become... more than obvious that you... kind of already know something has happened to me. I've seen you struggle to figure it out and I feel bad about it. And that's why I'm not mad at you. Because the problem lies within _me_. It all begins with me. I can't start blaming you for that”, she giggled out towards the end, gratefully confirming that she held nothing against him.

Loki allowed himself to breathe again, nodding his agreement twice with his head. After that confession, silence followed. Sweet and unyielding, during which he rewrapped her in his warm embrace, accepting the secrecy she still wished to keep up without question, hoping that in the future they would be able to jump over that obstacle as well. Her fingers found their way inside his raven hair, tangling, brushing, exploring his scalp in soothing circles. They breathed and existed, basked in each other's heat, felt the combined weight of their bones, not listening to each other's thoughts, not reading too much into anything, not trying to adjust their feelings to the revelation of the uncomfortable truth. They were more human than they thought, with faults and doubts, that's what they realised. And when they were ready and consequently, more aware of themselves, each placed a soft, a gentle, forgiving kiss on the other's shoulder and picked up where they'd left off.

“Now back to your brother. What did he tell you exactly?”, Andrea chirped determinedly, laying her head back on his chest, slouching her tall form in favour of the security his front offered.

“Not much else. Stark has us on tape, so that's that and according to Thor, the man has concocted all sorts of twisted theories concerning us. I'm quite positive he believes you're staying with me against your will. Barton will undoubtedly think I got you under some kind of mind control spell that makes you behave. Some charm that makes you more susceptible to my attentions. More willing to obey. It wouldn't surprise me. I did it on him once”, Loki elaborated lusciously, his grip on her back tightening, as he let out everything that had been eating at him, “Stark will surely back him up on that insinuation”.

“You're telling me that right now he might very well be watching us, thinking about abuse and obedience and spells? What kind of man is he exactly?”, Andrea huffed in frustration.

“The very sarcastic, non trusting, suspicious kind”, Loki quipped.

“But I'm cuddling you”, she protested, her voice dropping to a childlike whine.

“I might be forcing you”, he retorted, chuckling lightly.

“No, you're not. You're cuddling me back”.

“That's not what he sees”.

“That's not fair”, she whined again, shutting her eyes tightly.

“No, it's not. But he is stubborn, I'll give him that. If he's got an idea in that genius head of his, he's willing to stick to it until his bones rattle. It's an admirable thing, yet dangerously stupid as well”.

“But you're different now. You've changed”.

“He believes otherwise. In fact, I think every one of them, besides Thor, believes otherwise”, he commented, considering the facts carefully, unintentionally trudging back into memories of his first months on Earth. At the Compound. With the lot of them breathing down his neck. Or quite the opposite.

“And that invitation Thor delivered last night? To that party. Stark is behind it, isn't he? Is there a chance that he might be using it as an excuse, using your brother to trap us in his territory?”, she suggested boldly, suspicion ruling over her mind, endless possibilities of espionage that should only exist in literature.

“That was spot on, darling. I'm impressed”, he praised, kissing her temple lovingly.

“Predictable”, she scoffed indignantly, but nonetheless feeling a bit proud of herself.

“Thor said that they fought over their assumptions of us. Drawing uncertain conclusions, ending up agreeing that in fact all is totally inconclusive. Then the idea of the invitation came up. By the way, we have his woman to thank for that”, he stated contemptuously.

“Thor has a... girlfriend?”, she whispered, as if the mere thought of it was doubtful. It wasn't a question to be answered, but Loki found the perfect ground to tease.

“Why? Were you interested, little dancer? It's his hair, isn't it? You all fall for the shiny gold”.

“Oh, shut up”, she chuckled, “Well, anyway. Perhaps if it wasn't for her idea, something much worse might have been thrown at us. Let's at least be thankful for that”.

“True, I suppose”, he hummed.

“So they want to have us there to get a closer look. Confirm that we actually have something sincere”, she deduced.

“More like put us under a microscope, question us, mentally manipulate us, put us against each other to see how we'll react, interrogate us, corner us to see if we'll lash out and break the supposed pretence”, he corrected begrudgingly, mirth coating his bass voice.

“Arseholes”, she muttered, making him laugh. Her head shook from the deep vibrations within his chest.

“They are doing their job. Or at least that's what they call it”.

“Oh, yeah? And what job is that?”.

“Making sure that a civilian's life is not in danger, little dancer”, he answered, furrowing his brows painfully.

“But I'm not in any danger. What the hell? Just like my advisor...”, she whined cutely and detached her head from his body to look at him with pouty lips.

“Darling, they don't know that”, he justified, but not because he held any sympathy for them or their cause. He just needed Andrea to come to terms with their mindset.   
She lowered her eyes to his chest, staring at it intently as if the answers would appear there in any minute, like scribblings on a white canvas. Gathering her thoughts, trying to fight back, at the same time, the nauseating feelings she had just now cultivated for Stark, she worked frantically on finding the best course of action.

The night she broke down in her tiny apartment and decided on the spot that it was above her powers to stay away from Loki, she had also accepted subconsciously the consequences that would surely surface. She had prepared herself for society's resistance, however dramatic that sounded, and she had anticipated the scolding, the sideways looks, the manipulation, the scorn. She had known all along that there would be ugly comments thrown at her, insulting her and her integrity, her dignity, her ethics. Miss Johnson had been the very pompous example of such behaviour, perhaps the first of many to come. And they had come. Just like her, there were now more people that doubted them. That didn't support them and that were more than willing to make up their own scenarios about a bond, a coupling, a connection they knew nothing about. But unlike the first case, she and Loki now had a choice. An escape plan. A chance to prove those individuals and their unwanted opinions wrong and even if it wasn't an ideal way, it was they only way she could fathom working.

“I think we should go to the party”, she stated loud and clear, her chin held high and her mouth on a tight, decisive line.

She watched him sigh audibly and shortly, preparing his protestations. He shook his head in disagreement, “And I don't think it's such a good idea. Consider, Andrea. We'd be walking straight into the lion's den”.

“I _am_ considering it, but right now... I don't see what else we can do. It's the only solution”.

“We'll be allowing them to manipulate us. That's not a solution”.

“We are not going to be manipulated by anyone. We are smarter than that and you know it”, she argued bravely, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “The way I see it, if we do nothing, if we stay here ignoring them, then it will be like confirming that we don't want to be seen together, which will only lead them to believe that something is not quite right with us. They'll see something they have to fix. Do you want them barging in through our front door? I surely don't”.

“Oh, Norns...”, he leaned forward, supporting his elbows on her thighs and rubbing his eyes tiredly, “... I was so angry I didn't even think of it like that”.

“Yeah, I bet you were thinking going in all guns blazing on them”, she joked.

“Actually...”, he raised his head to look at her, winking filthily, “... I was”.

The colour drained from her face, “I meant that as a joke”.

“Well, _I_ didn't when I was thinking about it last night, pacing here and there like a bloody maniac”, he recounted, one eyebrow suddenly raised in devious thinking, “I do have these knives which I haven't used in so long with the double scales-”.

“Loki no”, she scolded swiftly, mortified by the seriousness in his voice and the smile on his lips.

He rolled his eyes at her, flopping back on the couch, angry and frustrated, “What? And I suppose your plan is better? We'll be like lambs ready for slaughter”.

She giggled at the metaphor and used it expertly to her advantage, “Better smart lambs than vengeful wolves though. The first sometimes works better. And you know very well Loki how easily you and I can succumb to the wolf. Just a little trigger, a push and we're off. But in this case it wont be to our benefit. It will only prove to them that we can be reckless, uncontrollable, vindictive and dangerous and these are exactly the things we are, but can't let them see”.

Loki laid his head back, sighing in resignation. It took him what seemed like forever to answer, to acknowledge her very valid point.

“There's no fault in your thought, little dancer. And if there is, I can't find it. But I just... I just... I don't...”.

“You don't want to go back?”, she filled in for him and reached forward to trace the column of his throat with her fingertips. She felt him swallow thickly, then sigh and swallow again, as if filtering the words over and over until he got them right.

“I don't want to expose us to them”, he ended up admitting, although there was a lot more baggage to be dragged behind that statement that he conveniently left out.

“Why, handsome?”, she inquired softly, quietly, worriedly, “Have they done something to you?”.

He shook his head instantly, shrugging her question off, “Don't ask me that. Not now, love”.

“Okay”, she agreed without further insistence, “It's okay”, she soothed , both hands rubbing gently at his neck.

A moment of silence, a lot of heavy sighing and then he asked, “So we go in, show off and then leave?”.

“And hope that after this travesty they will never bother us again”, she added wistfully, “Besides, you forget that we are not entirely alone in this. Your brother likes us. He didn't suggest anything different last night”.

He grinned lopsidedly at that, “No, I suppose he does like us. And his woman, Val, I believe. She and I always had a quiet understanding. And, if I remember correctly, there's a girl amongst the Avengers, Wanda is her name, who I think was always decent to me, even though I did not realise it at the time”.

Andrea smiled widely, as he recounted his past experiences. She felt strangely happy and included. _Oh my God_... Was that how he felt every time she talked about _her_ past?

Sitting up on her knees, she threw her arms around his neck and mumbled dreamily, “See? Things are not so bad, handsome”.

He chuckled at how far fetched that statement was, but her effort to lift his spirits and help him relax, melted the mirthfulness and grudge festering within him. He didn't want to diminish it, he didn't want to undermine it and sit idly, pouting like an ungrateful child.

“They are not because you make them better”, he whispered straight in her ear, before licking it playfully. As she wasn't expecting it, she squealed and backed away from him and his devious tongue, pushing at his chest to get off his lap, giggling like a little girl.

“Want to escape from me now, don't you? Nasty little minx”, he mused, grabbing her ass cheeks, squeezing them hard, trapping her atop his legs.

She gasped at how he spread them shamelessly, “You're the one licking ears and yet I'm the nasty one?”.

The comment enticed him all the more. He tutted disapprovingly, an amused lilt hovering over his words, “This behaviour... so unbecoming of a lady”.

Shaking his head, he eyed her body with a mixture of desire and mischief lurking in his irises. His voice was all low gruff when he suggested, “I think we must have the defiance tickled out of you”.

Before she had the chance to open her mouth and protest, he grabbed her tightly and teleported the both of them on the bed. He threw her on top of the covers and straddled her hips in a flash, trapping her in place. She tried to push him off with her hands, but he griped them forcefully and pinned them on the mattress on either side of her head. He watched her amused as she struggled, thrashing and twisting to get away from him, slip under his body.

“Are you sure you want to do that? What about the audience?”, she challenged, a wide grin spreading across her flushed face as she gave a sideways look towards the window. The curtains had been pulled open.

He chuckled maliciously and lowered his face so close to hers that their noses touched, hard breaths mingling in the short distance between their lips. Everything seemed very still and very silent all of a sudden. As if the world around them had somehow stopped moving.

“Let them watch”, he announced so abruptly that she gasped in surprise.

And then his hands were everywhere. On her belly, ribs, arms, sides, making her laugh and scream hysterically from the constant torture of his fingers digging into her flesh. She thrashed on the bed like a possessed woman, messing up the comforter and twisting the sheets underneath, frantically trying to avoid his next attack. Fighting her way down the length of the mattress to escape under him. Or get closer. After a certain point, she couldn't tell what her wish was any more...

 


	27. mundane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couple spends some quality time together, during which they learn something new about each other. Andrea manages to distract Loki from stressful thoughts of the upcoming party and in the meantime faces, one of the greatest changes in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day to everybody! I come bearing chapter 27, as is obvious. I have a couple of notes down there concerning you, so if you don't mind checking... One of them is unfortunately very important. 
> 
> **As always, pictures are burrowed from the web, pinterest in specific because I'm a pinterest slut, and therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. They are pretty much self-explanatory. Wink! 
> 
> For those of you who are potentially going to freak out a bit about the period stuff I mention in this chapter, like Loki's views and ideas, or Andrea's insecurities, I do apologise. But!, I have a very raw and beautiful concept in my mind about men taking care of women during their periods and since it's something I crave to one day experience for real, I thought of writing it into this chapter (and a couple more that will come) just to communicate it somehow and make myself feel better. Huh. Thank you for understanding. 
> 
> And now to the important note which I am really really really sad about writing. But it's better that I make an introduction now so that when the time comes it won't be too abrupt. On the 15th of September I'm starting Uni. Now, those of you who've been to Uni or still are know exactly what a roller coaster it is. The thing is that the course I've chosen is combined, meaning I actually study two objects at once, under one University title. And that means... I'll have to devote much, if not all of my time, to that. This piece of fiction right here I haven't already written, it's not ready and I'm just coming here posting the chapters one after the other. I'm still writing it. I'm making it up as I go and it is by far not finished. And that unfortunately means that once Uni officially starts, I'll have to slow down on my writing. Truthfully, I'm going to have to slow down a lot. I'm really sorry about that, but... it's Uni. I can't fail in it, because I couldn't divide my time properly. I will still be writing, there's no doubt about that. The only problem will be that instead of uploading four to five chapters each month (since every month has about four to five Thursdays), I'm actually going to be uploading two. Because two will potentially be all that I can manage. Perhaps it will be different around Christmas, Easter and summertime, but I can't guarantee it. So, on the 15th of Semptember a fairwell note will be uploaded to let you know that this phase of my life has began and that the chapters will be less in number. Again, I sincerely apologise. Some of you love this fic and I hate doing this to you, but it can't be helped. Life is knocking on my door and I have a dream to follow. Please don't be mad. Thank you.

There were only a few days left until the party at Avengers Compound, days which Andrea tried to fill with as many activities as she could, all designed and carried out to accomplish Loki's relaxation and to enhance his forgetfulness, soundly preventing him from going paranoid about the whole affair. She took pride in declaring that she had managed to achieve her goal, even though his mood insisted still on alternating between a sort of quick relief from reality and a kind of untamed surliness about all things human. And yet, no, she didn't allow him for a second to intimidate her out of helping him, but instead succeeded in keeping him at a mediocre, relaxed state of mind. Well, as relaxed as Loki’s mind could possibly get... before starting to feel threatened all over again.

“I'm not going to force you into decorating a tree, but...”, she said one fine morning as they lay in bed, doing absolutely nothing except for playfully peaking at each other's skin, “... I think that a couple of rows of lights would be rather nice”.

“No”, was his initial answer, stern and deeply bored, disregarding.

“... hanging from the windows, sparkling, bringing some of that festive spirit into this... gloomy place...”, she continued, ignoring him completely, yet begrudgingly noting down his negativity towards her idea.

 _No omelettes for a week, you arsehole_ , she thought bemused, hoping that he'd hear the playful insult somewhere inside her mind.

“No”, he repeated in the same tone. Well, clearly he hadn't heard.

“... lights so bright and shiny that will easily block the view inside the house so that Stark doesn't see me glide my hands down to places they shouldn't be gliding down to...”, she bargained in a calm, gruff voice, as she slid a hand underneath the blanket covering them and poked at his hipbone with the tip of a finger. She had no intention of getting bolder than that simple probing. No courage for that yet, but it didn't matter, because she got the message across.

He glanced down at her probing fingers under the hem of the warm, heavy blanket, a bright smirk appearing across the stern jawline. His gaze shifted to her face, all red and innocent, his breath catching in his throat when she licked and chewed at her lower lip, pretending aloofness and indifference. His heart screamed his need, his eyes begging her to touch him more, a fact that ran incongruous to the stillness of his tongue. How could he request such a thing when they hadn't even exchanged a chaste kiss on the lips?

“Go on”, he urged, only mildly curious, of course, about her suggestion.

He kept his tone diplomatic and distant, but the smile on his face was difficult to hide. It betrayed so much... He didn't know what to begin concealing. The joy? The bliss? The arousal? The gratefulness he felt because of her touch? Because of her _choice_ to touch him there? His nether regions were all hot and heavy now, the blood boiling at his lower belly, slightly pounding against this damaged vessel of layers of skin. Could she feel it? Was it tangible under her fingers? Did she understand it in her mind? What it was? How much he bloody craved for her to scrape her nails against the veins of his cock? How he longed for her to just grab him and get him off single-handedly? How he needed to feel warmth surrounding that part of him that was so lonely and unused, hanging heavily, almost every day, between his legs?

“Lovely lights of gold and white and silver, like little stars falling from the ceiling, like wishes...”, Andrea imagined, closing her smiling eyes in order to try and force the fantasy into image with colour, movement and magical sound.

“I love the way you describe things...”, she heard him mutter under his breath and giggled when she felt one of his long fingers ran down the sleepy, dewy skin of her cheek.

“Lights, which my handsome man could conjure with his powerful magic to impress me...”, she went on, knowing it in her heart that this would do it for him.

Complementing him, stroking his pride, his ego, slowly and sensually, goading him into falling submissive to her wishes. She knew next to nothing about men, had no idea where she was finding all this nerve to act like that around one, but in all honesty, what more could a man actually ask for, when there's a female in their bed, talking about lights as if it's sex itself, while caressing them tenderly as if they are made of fragile glass?

“You mean lights like these?”.

And just like that, he had created lights for her, tiny bulbs of gold, silver and white that magically stayed on, without being generated by any kind of electricity. Lights so bright and beautiful, like the souls of hundreds of fairies. Andrea opened her eyes to loads and loads of them, weaved through massive garlands, which hang vertically from the top of the window seals, the clean glass behind them multiplying their gentle intensity in crystal clear reflections. The million tiny bulbs seemed to illuminate the entire penthouse, similar to how the stars compliment the sky when you're gazing up at them, whilst out in the open, when you roam the free lands of nature, not when you're stuck in a city with buildings that hide beauties like that from the human eye.

She turned her gaze to Loki, who was observing her with pure adoration, his chest rising and falling faster in great anticipation. She noticed in awe how the lights behind him accentuated the darkness of his hair and paled his complexion even more, transforming him into an angel without wings, an old, wrinkled, but still rawly beautiful descendant of the heavens, fallen from grace, but freed in some mystical, wild sense.

Briefly glancing at the lights one more time, almost as if her mind was trying to find similarities and differences, she got up from her lying position on the bed and straddled his lap in one languid stretch. His eyes didn't leave her the entire step of the way. His hands found her waist automatically, as if it was a part of her, a sacred section of her body that he'd lain claim to many times. In a way, he had. Just not within the concept he would have enjoyed the most.

“You're beautiful”, she whispered to him, cupping his face in her hot palms, blushing red with happiness when the otherwise gloomy and dark God, smiled and nervously looked to the side, as if in denial of the praise she bestowed upon him.

 

***

 

After that night, he calmed down sufficiently enough and what was more, he smiled all the time like a fool, even when she wasn't looking at him, or smiling back. It was, to say the least, peculiarly unexpected and yet quite satisfying in its disconcerting sense. As Andrea came to realise, she loved to see him like that and what had officially rubbed on her as a stupid stretch of lips, gradually grew to be her favourite smile on him so far. A smile that had no apparent reason of existence, but was present all the time, even at the most random of moments.

“Stop it”, she giggled out, but pressed her lips together to force back the rest of the chuckles keen on getting out.

“Am I distracting you, little dancer?”, he suggested, even though he already knew the answer.

“Greatly. So stop it. I need to concentrate on the list or certain foods you proudly enjoy are going to be missing from the cupboards next week”, she chided, whilst bending down to grab two spaghetti packages from the lower shelves.

She had dragged him along to the supermarket under the pretence that she couldn't always roll the trolley by herself, especially when it was filled with goodies for home. In truth, she still dreaded going outside on her own, without his gentle intakes of air accompanying her, without feeling his strong manly presence stride along her on the stony slopes and pavements of Edinburgh.

She was getting supplies for the upcoming week, as well as a few more ingredients needed in order to cook dinner for their beloved friend, Mrs Granzioni. The housekeeper had announced not so long ago that she wouldn't be staying in the historic city for the holidays. Instead, she had decided to take her grandchildren, seven in number, on a flight back to Italy. They would spend both Christmas and New Year's Eve there, at the fashionable town, where Mrs Granzioni was born and bred. Florence.

Andrea had thought it would be a great idea to see her off with an invitation at the penthouse for drinks and food, a quiet dinner, before her flight the next day. She would cook a nice, Christmassy meal for the three of them, served with some sweet red wine. But before all that, a trip to the supermarket was in order.

“Oh, you're doing it again”, she scoffed, amused and slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze and the perversion hidden in that new smile.

“You look really enticing when you bend down to pick up things”, he stated boldly, the mega smile giving way to a suggestive smirk.

“And you look...”, she started saying, pushing the trolley into the next corridor, “... you... you look way too pretty to be in the supermarket”.

That made him laugh, “What sort of compliment is that?”.

“I... I don't know. It sounded better in my head”, she chuckled, not even trying to figure out if there was any sense at all in what she'd said. Shaking her head, amused, she realised it was absolutely bonkers.

A few minutes later, they reached the stalls stacked with breads of all sorts, sizes and shapes and were trying to decide on what to pick, meaning Andrea was struggling to choose between the different bread tastes, since Loki was clueless.

“Handsome? Have you ever tried pancakes?”, she asked, grabbing a package with ten ready mixtures inside.

He looked at her, a bit of confusion clouding his eyes as he tried to match the name to the taste. In the end, he raised both eyebrows, suddenly knowing what she would be pleased to hear, “I've never tried them from _your_ hands”.

For a moment, her mind drifted back to their date at the coffee shop, that afternoon, prior to Thor's unexpected visit. She remembered how they had sat together, feeding each other with tenderness and intent, Loki licking at her fingers languorously, _she_ holding her breath and biting her lips until he was through. How would pancakes taste off her-. _No, no, no that's not what he means. Get a hold of yourself, woman._ Loki was referring to manner of cooking, of course, and dressing and such. But nonetheless, dirty thoughts were dirty thoughts and once they entered her mind, there was no stopping them from working their way down south... to more sensitive places.

She took a deep breath and threw the package into the trolley unceremoniously, struggling to appear unaffected and not in heat. A futile attempt. Her cheeks were already burning up, the back of her neck all achy and so fiery that the skin itched. She was a step away from reaching back to scratch at the spot in frenzy, but with consternation, she realised that that wasn't the only thing that felt odd and out of sorts.

An annoying, empty sensation at the sides of her womb, as if the organs had been sucked off and left dry and patched like sandpaper, officially notified her that that time of the month was approaching, late as usual. Judging by the mildness of the disconcerting feeling in her belly, it would potentially take at least a weak before she started bleeding, but that was only an assumption. How it was possible that the pill had managed to clear her skin but not normalize her circle, was beyond her comprehension. If the damn thing was only serving one of the two purposes it was supposed to serve, in that case, her acne condition being the secondary purpose, then there was no reason to resume its consumption. Along with her other medication, she had dropped that too, and frankly, was feeling way better than before.

“Hey, can you wait here for a second?”, she requested shyly, halting the trolley in front of an enormous fridge.

“Is everything alright?”, he asked, giving her a concerned once over.

She was fidgety and her skin burned all of a sudden. It was tangible in the air around her, a sweaty, salty taste assaulting his lips as he licked them. At first he had made nothing of it, guessing that she had just gotten all flustered and wet from thinking naughty thoughts in the middle of a supermarket corridor, but then... there was something about her scent...

She shrugged and waved her hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah. I'll be right back. I just forgot something”.

She left him with the trolley and headed towards the health and sanitation department, looking for that particular brand of pads that in her experience so far, felt the most comfortable. Spotting it almost immediately, she moved to pick the item up, but her hand stopped mid air, her eyes slowly falling to other brands and packages at the right. She read the tags and labels out of pure curiosity, observing at the same time the pictures on them, depicting the sizes and shapes of the pads. They were all smaller and much more delicate than the ones she used and just below them there was a row of boxes of tiny tampons, which looked a lot more put together and... maybe more ladylike than the soft and huge, white pads she was so used to buying.

A completely unnecessary doubt began to creep into her mind, set on eliminating her sheer need for security and practicality and replacing it with a silly notion of having to be a proper woman with ultimate control over how much her body chose to bleed. It was ridiculous and she knew it very well. No woman could have absolute control over such matters and no woman should ever think herself less delicate and ladylike just because her body didn't bow to her wishes. No, on the contrary, it was a great responsibility to take care of herself, treat her body right, even if that meant ditching the whimsical and mainstream and going for what could actually be beneficial and helpful. _Get the fuck real, Andrea_...

She reached up to grab the large and comfortable pads, the ones she'd been buying since she first got her period, but for reasons inexplicable and truly trivial, her mind wouldn't stop shaming her about it. _You're not living alone any more, nor with your family. You're living with a man. How will you sit down? How will you cross your legs? How will you sleep against him with that thing poking at all directions? Maybe you should choose something more discreet_ , one side of her brain suggested, admittedly having a point, even if it was half right. _Oh, stop it you stupid cow. Get what makes you feel safe and soft and fuck discretion. Fuck him too. His insides don't tear and split and bleed like an open heart surgery each month. He's got no say in it_ , the other side chastised harshly and she had to give it to it, it was far more convincing.

Clutching at the item in her hands and pressing it against her stomach, as if willing herself not to turn around and replace it with the other options, she made her way back to Loki and the trolley. She had left him waiting long enough, because of her foolish insecurities.

He watched her as she returned a few minutes later with a large, pink, plastic item in her hands. She had a death grip on it, he realised, and he couldn't really determine what it was since her tightened forearms covered it almost completely. She made the final steps towards him, not really bothering to glance at him, as she grabbed the trolley's handle and started rolling it away from the fridges and towards the registers at the front.

“All set. Let's go”, she announced, keeping her eyes on the contents of the moving wagon, purposefully avoiding any contact with him. _Odd_.

As they made their way towards the awaiting girls with their blue uniforms and cash machines at the ready, he said nothing at all, simply followed her in silence, worrying over what was the matter with her all of a sudden. And then her smell reached his nostrils again. It was the same rum and honey and citrus as always, feminine but strong, but the sweat... the skin... her heat... those were much bolder than before and her wetness, her juices... saltier, headier... delicious... remarkably... mouth watering...

He wasn't supposed to be able to smell such things. If it weren't for his abilities, his animal senses, he would be as clueless as the next fellow. He took another tiny whiff, shortly and discreetly, but again, the same thrilling odour. He recognised it, he had smelled it before. He had just forgotten it over the years in spite of the countless women he'd bedded. Well, none of them had impressed him enough to stick around for more than just sex, and yet... A devious grin crept up, twisting the hard line of his mouth as he realised...

When their turn came to pay and pick up their new groceries, Andrea snatched the pads and pushed them quickly at the bottom of the plastic bag, covering it with bread, spaghetti, chicken breasts, whatever was within her reach at the moment, ashamed, for some reason, of Loki seeing it and recognising its purpose.

She tried to forget about it as they made their way back to the penthouse, bundled in their winter coats, arms tired from holding the heavy bags for too long. Her fingers felt raw and icy as they wrapped and rewrapped around the handles, hoisting the groceries up to flex her shoulders. It had also started snowing again and the temperature had abruptly dropped below zero. Loki deemed it risky to make the rest of the way home on foot, afraid that she might easily catch a cold. They ended up teleporting back to the penthouse and once inside its cosiness and warmth, they let the bags fall to the floor with light thumps and lazily shrugged out of their semi wet clothes.

Andrea kicked off her shoes and didn't waste any time bending forward to retrieve the foods needing to go immediately into the fridge and cooler, but just as she was about to grab the first item, her senses picked up movement from behind. Thighs bumped against the rump of her ass and a strong arm snaked around her waist, forcing her body to stand up right, straightening her with the utmost gentleness and care.

“Wha- what are you doing?”, she stuttered, anxiety and jumbled up hormones flooding her mind and affecting her ability to speak properly. Her body had already started its fidgeting, “Loki what-”.

“Stay still, darling”, he instructed, sweetly shushing her afterwards.

His other arm came up then, locking around her upper body, trapping her in a tight, dominant, but considerate and careful embrace. She struggled to obey him but did so anyway, stilling both her body and her tongue, but it proved more difficult than she'd thought.

Her nerve endings were alight with a kind of anticipation that tipped dangerously towards fear. She was ashamed to admit it, but she longed for more of it. Breaths were coming out faster, shorter and urgent as if her lungs weren't quick enough to draw oxygen in and expel it back out.

“Why so frightened, love?”, he muttered gently, his breath landing hot on her cheek. His mouth was so close to her ear, lips brushing against its shell, that when his voice reached her she immediately flinched, “I mean you no harm, you know that. I simply want to make sure...”.

One of his hands roamed down her body slowly, leaving the skin tingling underneath her clothes, until it reached the hem of the heavy wool. He lifted it just enough to sneak his fingers under it and the next thing she felt send her riling internally.

Her tactile sense went sky high, her mind numbed out, emptying, draining itself of thought and frankly, anything that included words, as his hand rested flat on her belly. Out of instinct she tensed, not because of fear, but more out of helplessness to do anything else, but be responsive to his touch.

“No. Let it go soft and plump for me, little one”, he said, shoving his nose into crook of her neck to catch her full scent one more time. His growing suspicion turned into a confirmed fact when he realised that it had stayed the same.

Andrea understood that he was trying to discover something. His command was softly spoken, devoid of scolding undertones or joking. It was a simple request he expected her to complete. To obey. But how could obedience without knowledge be an easy thing to achieve? She wasn't sure what he wanted and that terrified her. But somewhere inside, she didn't really wish to know and that excited her. Was he checking on her old bruise? The one she had acquired from that arsehole in the alley? Had that big, purple thing reappeared? Was he seeking her warmth to calm himself from the stress of the unfamiliar, too human grounds of the supermarket?

Despite the uncertainty and the doubt, she relaxed the muscles of her belly and let the flesh fill his palm. This was her man. This was only him touching her. She trusted him deeply not to hurt her, not to overwhelm her, not to make her cry, not to make her sad. He hummed approvingly in her ear, whispering a tender thank you, which only served as further confirmation. He was thanking her for that trust, for that obedience, even though she didn't know what was to come. Do men thank women enough because of such a thing? Because they let themselves relax in their hold, no matter the consequences? Do all men communicate their gratefulness so openly or was it just hers?

He dragged his hand a tad lower to unbutton her jeans and ease the fly open. She didn't even question it. Didn't even flinch. Not even when his fingers started rubbing just above her dark haired mound and then continued exploring its sides in careful, methodical strokes and stretches. She didn't object. Didn't push him away.

It was a meticulous inspection that he administered. Some sort of examination that she had never encountered before nor could wrap her mind around. She wished for answers and they came seconds later in dazed, dreamy mumblings that danced lightly over the shell of her ear.

“So lovely, so soft...”, was the first thing he said, nuzzling his nose in her bush of hair, “... almost ready”.

The woman's eyes had begun to shut involuntarily. It was an examination, yes, but one that strangely alleviated her off that empty feeling in her womb. So relaxing... And then the last two words left his mouth and her eyes shot open in stunned shock, the gears in her brain beginning to grind again. Had he just predicted-.

“Ten days”, he announced, a deep doctor like, self assurance coating his voice.

Somehow she lost her step and went limp against him, her head dropping back to rest at his broad shoulder. He tightened his hold instantly to keep her up on her feet, chuckling lightly at how she groaned deeply and brought her hands up to cover her flushed face.

 

“Just how did you do that?”, she mumbled through shaky fingers.

“Hormones shift when a woman enters the phase before her bleeding days begin. A shift like that affects the smell of all the fluids exiting her body. At the supermarket your scent changed. My senses are heightened, as you know. I caught a whiff”, he explained, slowly rocking their bodies from side to side, palming her belly with his enormous hand. The friction was delicious.

“Fuck...”, she whined, sighing heavily, feeling herself knee deep in shame and apprehension, “Is it... is it like a... like a terrible human smell?”.

“Not at all”, he chuckled, the low timbre of the vibrations hitting her skin and making it tingle eerily.

“Oh, little dancer...”, he continued with the same seductiveness, leaning forward to place a soft kiss upon her shoulder, “You smell like sex on legs and you don't even realise it. And I do wonder if I should keep telling you until you believe me or just show you...”.

And with that, he disentangled himself from her body and passed her by to get to the grocery bags. She watched him, a little panicked and certainly dumbfounded, as he bent a little and unburied the blasphemously pink package of sanitary pads and twisted it in his hands absent mindedly, like it was a cube or some toy. He turned to her, stopping just inches away from where she stood and gave the little pink thing one last swing around his fingers, before handing it over to her. She took it with trembling hands, wide eyes looking at him in shameful dread, face aflame and mind heavy with insecurity. How could he be so casual about it?

“If you need more of these next week, you tell me and we will get you some, alright?”, he suggested, a small understanding smile playing on his lips. She read compassion in his gleaming eyes, compassion that she mistook for pity at some point.

She nodded hesitantly, his words registering on her brain five minutes after they'd left his mouth. A wink from him, a blush from her and he was off, striding leisurely towards the closet as if he hadn't just predicted her period. As if he hadn't just shamed her to her very bones. As if he hadn't shook her terribly out of the little, protective bubble, in which she kept all functions of her body private. It was as if the cloud she lived on, blissfully unaware, had just dispersed.

 

***

 

Dinner with Mrs Granzioni went terrifically well, meeting Andrea's expectations to the fullest. She cooked chicken fillet on the grill and roasted some vegetables for the main course. A carefully put together dish of spaghetti napolitana was served for starters, as is custom in Italian cuisine. Loki supplied the red wine, a bottle from his personal collection and own making, thankfully bared of belladona and passion fruit from bloody Vanaheim. She had been rather insistent on that, since getting the housekeeper all hot and horny wasn't one of the things she was eager to experience in this life. 

Overal, the old woman was very pleased with both the invitation and Andrea's excellent cooking, for which she openly applauded her, insisting that she couldn't wait for the next time they would all eat together like this from her lovely, talented hands. Andrea couldn't hide her blush at the praise as she got up to gather the empty plates, straightening her snuggly grey dress with her still free hand.

“Just you wait Mrs Granzioni”, she mused triumphantly, “Dessert is coming”.

“There's dessert too?”, the housekeeper exclaimed, widening her eyes to look down to her fully stacked belly.

Andrea hummed possitively and turned away from the two in a haste, anxious to get the plates to the sink and bring out her sweet little creation. She came back with three small plates of tiramissu, heavily spinkled with coffee powder, which Loki had begrudgingly lent her from his secret workshop, and a light dose of cognac, which she conveniently stole from the mini bar between the third and fourth floor to ceiling windows.

Once she set them down on the table, Mrs Granzioni gasped excitedly, her hand coming up to clamp down on her mouth, clearly moved by the sight and meaning of the sweet temptation in front of her.

“Just like back at home”, she said, her dark chocolate eyes darting between the plate and Andrea's satisfied smile.

The young woman cleared her throat and joined them, signalling that they could all start devouring. Loki didn't waste a minute, typical, but the housekeeper took hesitant bites, closing her eyes slowly. To Andrea that meant that she either loved the taste too much or detested it with a passion.

“Did I get it wrong?”, she asked insecurely, her rosy face turning red from the sudden rush of heat, her brows furrowing into a melancholy expression of defeat. It was a difficult recipe...

“No. No. It's perfect, darling. It's perfect”, Mrs Granzioni rushed to assure, flashing her a wide, longing smile.

Nostalgia, Andrea recognised instantly. Not simple homesickness. That was way too light in comparison to what this woman must have felt for so long. Perhaps the smell of this dessert was full of feelings and when she took the first bite, she might have tasted memories instead of cream and brandi. Memories that she hadn't shared with anyone.

“You haven't been back for years, have you?”, she asked, reaching across the table to squeeze the woman's wrinkled hand.

She giggled like a little girl, “To Italy? No. Not in twenty years. I was supposed to visit sooner, but... he left me early”.

“You would have gone back with your husband?”, she specified, noticing for the first time that Mrs Granzioni still wore her ring, even if her husband was long gone.

“Yes, that was the plan. But now, I'm going back with my beloved grandchildren. I'm going back with new life”, she declared, her previous short lived melancholy now vanished, her smile reappearing on her strangely youthful face, in spite of the remembrance of a person that was no longer living and breathing.

Andrea pondered silently over that for a brief moment. She thought that maybe, just maybe, when you've lived a full, happy, thrilling life with someone you love, when you've devoted all you have, all you are, in keeping them safe and when you've given everything you've got to make sure that the smile stayed on their face every single day, when you have gladly surrendered your whole over to that special someone, then maybe the pain of their loss is not that sharp, because you know that they left taking a piece of you with them. So when your own time comes to leave this world, to ascend through the clouds into realms unknown and join them wherever they are, that same piece is returned to you, along with the person you lost. Maybe that was why the housekeeper smiled fiercely when she remembered her husband and didn't cry instead.

She blinked instantly to stop herself from crying, a lump forming in her throat much faster than she could bite back. She swallowed it down and plastered a barely put together smile on her face. Her eyes though, randomly fell on Loki and the lump started itching its way out again.

During the meal he had been the best version of himself. Charming, gentlemanly, sharp and polite in his insult marathon with the housekeeper, enjoying himself to the fullest. But now, he was looking at her intensely, his lips parted as if wishing to say something, but finding the wrong word formation repeatedly. He half smiled at her, a quick twitch to the side, and nodded, before returning to his dessert.

She wasn't sure how, but she worked out that the nod was a kind confirmation of her thoughts and a tear slipped stubbornly from her eye as she realised that perhaps... perhaps she was right about Mrs Granzioni. She quickly wiped the wet trail from her cheek and delved back to her plate, taking a small bite, trying to relish in its bold, bittersweet taste.

When they finished and Mrs Granzioni had gushed enough about what she planned to do with her grandchildren once they landed on her homeland, she informed the couple that it was time for her to go home and start packing for the trip tomorrow.

On the doorstep, Andrea leaned down to embrace her tightly, wishing her a good trip, while Loki smirked at her his best evil smirk. With the corner of her eye, Andrea caught a flash of green tinged with yellow and turning her head to the side to look at it better, she saw him use his magic to create something that appeared to be... a rose.

She straightened her back, extricating herself from the woman's tight grip in order to witness the remnants of yellow mist hovering over his hands, the green withdrawing back into the skin of his fingers. The fully grown rose was immensely beautiful, its petals red as blood and its leaves a vibrant, healthy green.

“Safe journeys, Lucia”, he told her and offered her the little token.

The housekeeper's eyes filled with joyful tears as she took it and caressed the softness of its petals, looking at Loki as if he was giving her more than just a plain flower. As if he was delivering a living representation of a past memory she cherished more than life itself. There was no mistaking how she smiled at them both before she made her way down the stairs.

“It was really sweet”, Andrea commented giddily as she gathered the empty dessert plates to take them to the sink, “Giving her that rose. Her whole face lit up”.

Loki chuckled from his place in the kitchen. He was leaning against the island, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her rinse the used china and silverware and then bent down to place them carefully into the dishwasher.

“It's her favourite flower”, he explained, “Her husband used to bring her an entire bouquet each day after work. I'm not him, so I'm not entitled to a bouquet, but a single flower... she appreciates”.

Andrea stopped what she was doing and turned around to face him, a coy smile playing at her lips. She took a step closer and crossed her own arms over her chest, her gaze shifting to a bargaining eye squint.

“You're all soft and cuddly on the inside, aren't you?”, she suggested, giggling and biting at her lip to still her tongue from saying more.

“You've had too much to drink. You're delusional”, he divulged, grinning deviously.

“Admit it”, she ordered stubbornly, completely closing the space between them.

He opened his arms, as if in reflex, to welcome her in his embrace. She timidly tucked herself against him, crouching her shoulders to fit wholly and let out a heavy sugh when she felt warm muscles engulfing her, pressing her into the safety of his chest. Of his heart. She rested her cheek on his collarbone and with tiny movements, extricated her hands from between their bodies, bringing them around his waist. She slid them down slowly, feeling the muscle at the small of his back, the ridges leading down to it, and slipped them hesitantly inside the back pockets of his jeans, keeping them as still as possible so as not to indicate how she was discreetly trying to grab his ass. She _was_ , to her great shame, but she didn't feel inclined to let him know that.

“I can be sometimes. But don't tell anyone. You'll blow up my cover”, he chided playfully as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“I promise I wont”, she vowed, a bit sleepily. Dinner and then drinks had dragged on until the first morning hours and now, she felt the gears and grinds of her body beginning to shut down.

“Andrea...”, she heard him whisper, her name vibrating within the column of his throat, so softly and quietly, like a prayer, “... I know I promised I wouldn't do it again, but... I happened to hear your thoughts tonight, at the table. I didn't mean to, little one. Your emotion was simply too strong and it reached me before I had the chance to-”.

“Shh, it's okay. I didn't mind it”, she cut him off with a gentle voice, nuzzling her nose and mouth on the hollow spot above the collarbone.

“You knew? Why am I not surprised?”.

“Well, you kind of nodded after I finished with thinking and crying internally, but like I've said before, it's the eyes. Your eyes. If one's paying attention... you're an open book”, she hummed contently.

He scoffed as an attempt to hide the quickening beat of his heart at the revelation, “Don't tell anyone that either”.

She tutted and chirped, “Nah, that's only for me to know”.

He smirked as the next thing he felt was delicate fingers teasingly digging into his ass through the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Laying your claim on me, are you?”, he cajoled, practically feeling the surge of blushing heat emanating through her clothes.

“Hmm”.

“Well anyway, the thought you had tonight was lovely, if I may say so. It was very...”, he paused, looking for the right word.

“Romantic?”.

“That too, but I was going to say... life changing”.

“Hmm, well, I guess so. In a way it is. _You_ were life changing for me, handsome. And maybe it's too soon to say this and maybe it will come across wrong, what with all the wine I have had tonight, but taking as an example our mutual, elder friend, I want to give you everything so that when I go, because I will go at some point, as we all do, you will have pieces of me to remember me by and smile, pieces you'll return to me when you will join me”.

Her words, her point drove its way home like a violent jolt of electricity administered straight into his heart, but instead of killing him, it rejuvenated him, made him aware that, - to his knowledge-, all they had was now. The present, standing in this kitchen, in this penthouse, in this city, on this planet, two tiny beings of equal intellect and pain who, out of the millions of possibilities, ended up being here, trapped in this embrace. The disheartening notion of that embrace breaking caused a sudden lump to form in his throat, one that he managed to choke down at the last minute. There was a lot he wanted to say, many promises he wished to make, but he took them all and stored them away to express at a more appropriate time.

“Little dancer, will you write these thoughts down for me?”, he requested once he made sure that his voice wouldn't come out wobbly, “I'm quite an old God, I might forget”.

“Give me a sunset, like you promised, and I will gladly”, she breathed out, completely melting against him.

“Of course”, he nodded, his arms griping her firmer.

But he didn't agree. He didn't want to give her sunsets, even if she loved them. Sunsets signalled endings and the greatest ending mankind feared was death. Now he feared it too. Instead, he wanted to give her endless sunrises, even if beginnings were hard and often unsuccessful. Even if it was easier for the sun to sink rather than push through and rise.

 

***

 

“How the hell did you know? How did you guess? _Did_ you guess? I wouldn't ask, but it's been bothering me since the day before and I... just tell me”, she quipped as they walked towards Three Cinnamon Sticks to get coffee. It was frigid cold outside, but  after his valiant insistence, she had given into the plea.

It was a bright morning, since the sun had decided to make a surprise appearance in the middle of winter. The light made the snow and the crunchy salt under their feet sparkle, making the streets and side walks look like endless lakes of diaphanous white crystals, sprinkled with tiny diamonds.

 

“Know what?”, he inquired, his voice stern, taunting her to continue.

Andrea braced herself for the uncomfortable clarification, swallowing thickly. She cast her eyes down to her moving feet and lowered her voice, as if afraid some passer by might be interested in listening to her hormonal blabbering.

“Ten days. My... my period. How do you know that for certain? _I_ don't even know that. My  circle is... irregular. I can't track it easily. Did you do some kind of spell?”.

Now he got it. And after some light chuckling that had her cheeks redden in seconds, like flowers on springtime, he turned his head to the side to look at her curiously. But his gut soon alerted him, she wasn't going to return the gaze. The little dancer kept staring at the ground, her expression unreadable perhaps for the first time. It could have been simple shyness, shyness she often exhibited about intimate matters. It could have been, if she hadn't done that one little thing that made his heart clench up.

Andrea was by far not one of those skirmish women who couldn't stand having their periods or discussing about them. It was a natural, purifying process of the female body that enabled miracles to happen inside a womb. Taking that into consideration, she had no idea why she now felt so uncomfortable with it being openly discussed with another person. She was an open minded young lady, living in the 21st century, when a woman's menstruation is not a taboo subject. So why did she want the ground to crack open and swallow her whole?

Her hand came up on its own accord and cautiously rubbed at the underside of one firm breast. Her forever trusted way of calming down. Touching something soft on her body. Drawing strength from the feel of it against her fingers. She knew very well that Loki's neck, equally soft, was inches away, but she didn't want to be touching him right now. Hell, she couldn't even look at him properly without quivery lips and shy eyes, how would she be able to actually help herself calm down with his skin...

Thankfully the coffee shop was just a few steps away and as they neared the glass door, a contented sigh escaped her. But just as she was about to reach out with her other hand and push inside, Loki stepped in front of her, gently stopping her.

She furrowed her brows in confusion, attempting to follow his eyes to see where they would lead her, provide some answer as to why the halting. It didn't take her long to realise what he was staring at. _Nothing escapes you_. Glued to her breast, that was where his eyes had landed and stayed, the intense, piercing stare full of equal amounts of concern and curiosity. He knew what this meant, he had probably seen it before and yet, had never acknowledged it out loud.

“Sorry”, she muttered in a haste, lowering her hand to her side. For some reason that simple act felt like the toughest thing in the world, but she quickly brushed the thought off in favour of appearing at least a bit... well not so jittery.

But the seconds passed and he wasn't moving aside. Actually, he wasn't even trying to tear his gaze away from the spot, and it was a gaze as immutable as iron. Her cheeks were growing freakishly hot and her breathing had started to quicken. Wishing not to remain idle under his close inspection for a minute longer, she decided that a good offence is the best defence.

“What? Are my hormonal outbursts not something you're familiar with?”, _fuck, that was harsh, why did I say that_ , she thought regrettably, “You know what, don't answer me. Let's just go inside”.

She tried to move passed him, by God, she really did, but he was faster. Before she had the chance to make the second step and be rid off him, him and her shame, he caught her hand, the hand previously resting on her breast, and brought it to his lips. The kiss he laid upon her knuckles immobilised her, the smile that stretched across his face as they locked eyes, the only thing she needed in order to relax.

Hormonal she might indeed have been, for she laughed sweetly, letting go of some of the tension without realising it. She was always accusing _him_ for his rapid mood swings, but in truth, hers were equally disturbing, especially around that time of the month.

“Oh, I'm quite familiar with hormonal outbursts. Yours are adorable, especially since you blush so hard”, he shook his head, as if not believing the thoughts running around in his head, “I'm just realising...”.

“Realising what?”.

The smirk he gave her was lecherous, his words more than she could handle at the moment, “You're not used to a man getting involved in your womanly matters, are you?”.

A small part of her was hoping all along that he would drop it. Men were skirmish about these things, that was a fact. But apparently _he_ wasn't. Either way, she didn't want to continue the conversation and she found no better way to indicate it other than glare daggers at him, snatching her hand away from his grasp, almost as if he'd electrocuted her.

“Why? Is it something you genuinely like to do?”, she attacked, but the tremor in her voice betrayed it all.

“I asked you something first”, he retorted, not the least bit warned off, his curiosity now off the charts, “You're a tough and competent woman. It wouldn't surprise me if you felt uncomfortable with me suddenly joining you in this monthly trial, nor would it offend me, especially if no other man in your life before me was ever interested to do so”.

“But there were no other men in my life before you”, she almost whispered, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, aggressivelly biting down on it. The pain was piercing, but at least it held her concentrated.

“What about your father? I've heard fathers here on Earth are often helping, even if that only includes going out to buy the necessary supplies”, he suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

Andrea laughed at that. She legit laughed. A malicious sound, coming from deep within her chest that made him wince just a tad and blink in sheer disbelief.

“My _father..._ ”, shestarted, putting a particular mocking emphasis on the word like she had first done at the coffee shop, “... used to call it a sickness because it makes women whiny and bitchy. Forgive me if I'm cruel, but I don't really consider him a man if that's his belief”.

Why exactly, she didn't know, but she was overcome with the need to appear taller than him. So she took a step back, tipped her chin up and straightened her spine, hardening her lips in a ''you're not the boss of me'' line.

“So I suppose you're right. I'm not used to men getting involved. Besides, most of them have a reputation for wanting to stay out of it anyway. I've adjusted to that”, she confirmed boldly, knowing for certain that at least a bit of disdain blazed in her gleaming eyes. She hadn't even realised how her voice had suddenly been raised and edged to the beginnings of anger.

“Perhaps. But I'm not most men and I'm certainly _not_ your father”, he declared fair and square, but without raising his tone at all.

He didn't want to intimidate her. He didn't want to make her haunch her shoulders and cower. She had an issue with loud voices, he wasn't about to disrespect that. But he did want her to understand that one simple truth. Simply because she hadn't lived with the perfect father figure that didn't mean that all of that man's character traits were surely bound to apply to all men, “Do you see anything in my making, anything in my build that suggests otherwise?”.

That silenced her. She bit her tongue. He was right, as he almost always was. She lowered her eyes in shame, afraid that his declaration would be soon accompanied by scolding. But it didn't come. It never did with him. Whatever she did, no matter how angry or whiny or stupid she got he never chastised, he never pushed further than she felt comfortable with. He was nothing like _him_. Loki had compassion in his heart, harboured respect for women, had an education that allowed him to be open, attentive, caring, traits he only let show when he was with her.

She shook her head nervously, head bowed in comfortable subservience, “No. No you're not. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I don't know... I just...I don't-”.

“- know why I'm interested in this particular working of your body”, he finished for her softly, watching her curl her hands into tiny fists and bring them up to her cheeks to cool them off with her knuckles. She was red all over. _So sweet_ , _so innocent_ , _so lovely_... She was barely able to nod affirmat ively.

“Andrea why would I not be interested in what happens inside you?”, he reversed, putting it differently, hoping that that would get the information flowing between them.

Her skittish eyes couldn't stand to look at him, so she turned her head further away and stared at the blinding whiteness of the snow, “Because it's not a pleasant thing. It's disgusting and ghastly and bloody”.

“You think I'm disgusted by blood? Andrea, do you have any idea in how many battles I've been?”.

“That's a different kind of blood”.

“You bet it is. It's the only type that has purpose. It's the only type that brings life, instead of death”.

She turned the notion over in her head, fiddling with the neck of her sweater like a little child who was trying to comprehend something new, who was desperately trying to come to terms with a change in their thinking.

“That... that still doesn't answer why you want to get involved or why I... why I should let you”, she stuttered, believing that she could defend herself behind stubborn questioning.

“This isn't a matter that requires your agreement, little dancer. It's my insistence that counts, even my enforcement when I'm left with no choice. It's my responsibility too, as your partner. As your companion. As your lover”, he explained softly, the huskier timbre of his voice sending shivers through her, “A role like that is an honour and part of that role is to take care of your woman even if she believes she can do it all by herself. I was taught as such in an early age. The hell with it, love. There's a reason nature gave _you_ the gift of going through this cleansing process and not men. Unfortunately, not many realise it, fewer understand it and next to none respect it the way it should be respected”.

 _You're definitely not from Earth_ , was the first thought that breeched her mind, stupidly so, but still.

His words, his beliefs, the severity in his voice were beginning to brand themselves roughly in her heart. They were part of who he was, how he was brought up, - _bless the woman that raised him-,_ an inextricable piece of his sensitivities and it was all inching towards her brain too. These notions, deep, educated, earthy, kind, selfless notions, were slowly becoming hers as well, obliterating all she previously thought of the matter and confirming how experienced he was about the workings of bodies, even more so than she was. And although she was positively accepting soul deep his way of thinking, his intentions towards her, whether she felt comfortable with them or not, there were still one or two words that she struggled to realise.

Pathetic mewlings were out of her mouth before she had the chance to stop them and think through, “You... you think me... as such? I... you've said it before... but I thought... it was... you see me as... as-”.

“As my woman and my lover, yes”, he filled in for her, determined blue eyes raking over her fidgety figure and dumbfounded face.

A new rush of heat coursed through her, “But we haven't-”.

“You know we will, Andrea. We both know it. I was there the moment you accepted it in your heart. I was there each and every time. It might happen in a week, a month, a year, but it _will_ happen. And once it begins neither of us will continue to have a choice”, he confided, out loud, for the first time.

And now he waited, for the painful slap and the rejection that would end him, or the trust and reciprocation that would bring air back into his lungs. This was the very opening of his heart and she now held it in her hands, squeezing it experimentally until she was ready to decide what to do with it. To his great relief, she answered immediately and it almost felt like she knew all of this all along.

“There was never a choice Loki. We saw each other and it was sealed, then and there”, she vouched, bringing her eyes up to meet his expectant ones, “I'm a little scared, okay? I've never... I've never been through this before and I'm just making it up as I go. But... if we are lovers, as you say, then... we are fighters too. And I like to think that when there are obstacles, battles... we fight together, right? We'll pull through... right?”.

Loki released the breath from his lungs, almost gasping for air renewal, and before she had the chance to turn her eyes away in nervousness, he grabbed her by the waist and brought her flash against him, his other hand travelling up her back to fist itself into her hair and use it as a handle to shove her further against him. Andrea didn't need much coaxing to do just that, her own hands going around to trap him in her warm embrace and show him with her body's will the strength of her word.

He turned his head to find her ear and whispered, “Always together. Never apart. Apart would end me, Andrea”.

She moaned against the fabric of his coat, a desperate, chocked sound. There were no words worthy enough to be spoken out loud, not on her part, not in this moment, when her heart was taking over, incapacitating all thoughts and doubts with the utmost precision, almost like a virus. Like love.

She squeezed harder, one of the few things her moulded body was still capable of doing and hoped with all her might that he'd understand.

And then the most magically animalistic thing commenced. Her lips itched violently, trembling with the need to clamp down on something, but finding only air, her mind keen on conjuring vile images of mouths clashing against each other like warriors, fighting over lands, or wolves, tearing each other apart for dominance.

This marked the first time she solidly, undeniably wanted to participate is such a war.

To kiss...

 

***

 

On their way back to the penthouse, after they'd grabbed their coffees, they didn't talk much, but truthfully, the silent parts weren't at all awkward. Their mouths might have remained closed, but their eyes talked vividly every time they happened to meet. The bridge between the green and the blue, as she always imagined it, the unification of two beings, the binding of two different civilizations, had finally been established for good. Now Andrea knew that even if the contact was broken or disrupted or blurred, the invisible link between them, set on stone and sweat, would stay put and unyielding.

“You didn't tell me after all”, she thought of asking again, once her heart had stopped beating so damn fast.

“Tell you what?”, he wondered, sipping on his coffee.

“Ten days. How do you know for sure?”, she explained, rolling her eyes at him in exasperation.

He smirked at her, a nasty wink following soon, “Oh, forgive me, I completely forgot about it between convincing you that there's no escaping me on your bleeding days and confessing my eternal devotion to you and your... most erogenous body”, he smartly divulged, and for his narcissism received with delight a hard slap on his shoulder, followed by her soft giggling that managed to melt the sass out of him.

“Answer me”, she ordered, casting sideways looks at him. She was only able to catch the darker side of his face, since the sunlight was hitting him from the other direction. _Half dark, half light,_ she thought wondrously.

“First of all, it's not ten any more, it's eight. Secondly, if you must know, when I touched your belly, I felt around your endometrium with my fingers. It's not yet down to the right position, but it will be soon”, he finally elaborated, giving her a yearning once over, “Eight days”.

Was he seriously looking forward to this type of care taking? Well, from the way he was looking at her...

“That's impossible”, she sassily argued, “You can't just feel around an organ and determine. I mean... it's too small. There's almost no chance you can find it in there, where it's mashed up with all the others. Actually, how do you even know its name?”.

His face got smug then, smug in the sense that ''it's time to start bragging distinguishably about all my achievements in life'', which was exactly what he proceeded in doing.

“Andrea, darling, I'm more than two centuries old. I've studied almost every subject there is to be found in science, medicine, biology, anatomy, alchemy, herbology and apart from all that, I am a God and a frost giant with senses sharper than...”, he went on, occasionally pointing his finger at her like a teacher giving lessons, making her roll her eyes more than once, “... anything is possible, minx. So don't tell me you're so surprised that I figured out the position of your endometrium”.

“Show off”, she accused and darted her tongue out in defiance, before starting to pace faster to escape his chiding tone and smug stare and that suave way he walked, like ''mister know it all''.

“Eight days, darling. Eight days”, he shouted after her and drew in another sip of his hot drink, absurdly amused with how she stomped off, away from him, indicating none too gently that she had had enough.

But in all honesty, as she created distance between them, all she could thing about was how he'd touched her there, so close to a spot that ached all day and night for him, but stayed subserviently unsatisfied and how she wanted to kiss him with everything she had, just moments ago.

And as he neared her, his dark, lean shadow cast beside hers upon the crunchy surface, she realised in shameful resignation that her smile had already reached both her eyes and ears.

To kiss... 

To touch...

To dream of him...

To see herself as the instigator of such affection, a woman's affection...

To kiss...

To touch...

To refrain from inevitable blushes, whilst doing so...

To be what he'd called her...

_My lover and my woman, yes_ ... 

But how?

 


	28. love him, soothe him, save him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last day before the party the couple opens up and talks about fears, desires, doubts, fathers and tragedies. Teasing and whole lotta loving ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Thursday again. Time flies by for me here in Manchester, because you know, I'm running around doing stuff all day long. Apartment stuff! How exciting and how difficult at the same time. Well, chapter 28 is here and is kjndkdldj. I was kind of drooling as I wrote it. I must have been on my period... haha. Hormonal. 
> 
> The song mentioned in this chapter is ''Too Afraid to Love you'' by The Black Keys. 
> 
> Please note that this is the last fully written, fully edited chapter I've worked on. Chapter 29 is still incomplete, but I'm working on it every chance I get. It's just that with the added responsibilities and my mum always being in the same space as me, I can't write much. I don't feel comfortable. I'll sort out everything soon though. 
> 
> Enjoy your reading...

“Come on, get up. We're doing this”, Andrea declared, pulling at his wrist with both hands. He was so heavy though, like he was built of bricks, that she didn't manage to even nudge him from his sprawled out position on the bed. And she was putting all the resistance she could on those poor knees of hers. No matter, she only succeeded in looking like a picture from a comic book, with those characters whose eyes are about to pop out from the exertion.

“Come... on! I promise it will be nice. I will put music on. You like my taste, remember? It will relax you”.

“No”.

“Is that your first answer to everything?”.

“No”, he sneered, smirking suggestively at her.

“Then come on”, she groaned, giving him another hard tug.

“I said no, little one”, he growled at her and pulled his wrist away, yanking her back on the bed with him.

A malicious chuckle escaped him as he watched her falling ungracefully face down on the pillow next to him, grunting in frustration, her muffled curses drowned out by the pressure around her mouth.

“Don't ''little one'' me”, she whined, lifting her head up and twisting it as far as it would go to look at him with puppy eyes, “Yesterday you wouldn't shut up about your mad skills in this and that and biology and chemistry and now what? You're scared of a little metal pan and the oven? You make your own bloody wine for God's sake. How can cooking with me be any more difficult than _that_?”.

She scumbled on her hands and knees on the bed, trying to find some balance so that she could sit back on her calves, gazing at him through curtains of dishevelled, dark brown hair. He was slightly perched up on the bed, a huge pillow cushioning his back and only a sheet around his hips to cover his generous endowment, which she still hesitated to properly observe. Pale fabric against equally pale skin. For a minute she couldn't tell apart which was flesh and which was the inanimate object.

It was the last day before Stark' s Christmas party, a pending, formal occasion that had started to pick at his nerves again, bringing out of him that familiar boredom and surliness that she knew to associate him with when he didn't get what he wanted. And what he wanted, in this case, was for her to change her mind on a whim and decide to relieve him of the obligation. But that wouldn't happen no matter how much he insisted with his standoffish and brutish behaviour, which yesterday was all but that. But no. There was purpose behind accepting the bloody invitation and they were bound to follow through. It was essential to prove themselves unafraid and fierce against the billionaire's attempts at crashing their spirit with his wild science fiction theories.

For the past days, she had done great with keeping his mind off of it. Christmas decorations, trip to the supermarket, dinner, cooking his favourite foods every single day, her period, the unexpected occurrence that appeared to spark his manly sense of taking care of the female, whatever that truly meant. But now that they were one day away from the unwanted social event, the enthusiasm had drained out of him and all that was left for her to work with was the smugness of ''I know better'' and his persistence on staying hidden under the covers, ignoring everything that was happening around him. Ignoring her too if she was being noisy.

She willed herself to understand him and his morose feelings, even without having full knowledge of why he was so negative about the party. She, herself, wasn't the out going type, in fact she hated contact with strangers, but she knew that they had to go and had accepted it. She tried to comprehend, but her gut kept telling her that his problem with it, this aversion towards joining these people again for a few hours, was actually based on something much deeper, darker. On some kind of unforgettable experience that he preferred not to share. And she fully, wholeheartedly respected that, because she knew all too well what it felt like to have things in your ledger that have never been spoken aloud and that they probably should, but your constant course of action is to bury them deeper and deeper, shovelling them into the depths of your heart and covering them with the thickest dirt you can find. That was what she'd been doing with her secrets, so who was she to judge?

_You don't want to go back?_

_I don't want to expose us to them._

_Why handsome? Have they done something to you?_

_Don't ask me that. Not now, love._

“What does chemistry have to do with it?”, he suddenly asked, the slightest bit of curiosity seeping through his carefully controlled voice.

“Well, cooking is like chemistry, but much easier”, she explained, her hope renewed with his unexpected interest, “It's all about the right amounts and the right doses and how well the ingredients will blend together in order to create the perfect... chemical concoction. And the results are... eatable”.

“My potions are eatable too”.

“Yeah, if someone has a death wish. My cooking is delicious”.

He brought his hands up to his face, fingers rubbing in on his eyelids, “Something tells me you were highly incompetent in chemistry at school and so brought out all your frustration in the kitchen”.

Andrea giggled and nodded in excitement, hoping that with her confirmation she would convince him to join her, “ Yes, yes, yes. That's exactly how it happened. Come on! I'll tell you stories of home too!”.

He laughed at that, raising a questioning eyebrow as if in a dare, to see if she would mean it or conveniently take it back as soon as he agreed to this disastrous idea of hers.

His eyes fell on her graceful figure on the bed, sitting on her calves facing him, wearing an oversized t-shirt that was probably his and her tiny black socks that covered just up to her ankles. She'd spread her legs a bit in her attempt to find her balance on the wobbly mattress, her hands now playing absentmindedly with the wrinkled fabric that bunched up between her thighs. She was biting her lip in sheer anticipation, hanging from his words, eyelashes battering prettily. Her head was a mess of disoriented wires, but her skin was healthy and glowy, despite it being oily and acne prone. He let his gaze wander down to her chest, now entranced by how it rose and fell. With each steady breath she took, her nipples peaked through the loose fabric, straining against it enticingly. He caught himself thinking that cooking with her while she moved around in the kitchen looking like this, wasn't such a bad idea after all.

“If by any chance, Stark records me chopping fruits and says anything about it tomorrow night, I'm going to tie you down on this bed, naked as the day you were born, for all of his staff to see”, he threatened in a low growl that ran completely incongruous to the sweet smile plastered on his face.

A hot flush spread across her cheeks and chest, amongst other areas, and for unjustifiable reasons, she thought of nothing else to say except for, “But... but... I'll be on my period soon, remember? I'll make the bed look like a massacre”.

His eyes darkened for just a second, before a wide knowing smirk broke out on his face, replacing the fake smile from before. Andrea's hands trembled as they kept fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, as if in preparation for the upcoming lewdness.

“Then they will be more than welcome to watch me lick at the massacre as it gushes out of you”.

Her lips parted slowly to allow a short moan to escape through and despite all reason and common sense, going completely against the simple human instinct, out ruling all indication of the savagery and voracity of what he had just said, against all of that, she pressed the white fabric against her pussy and grinned at him like a crazed raptor ready to attack.

“Deal”, she chirped with bright, smiling eyes. She jumped off the bed the next minute and headed off towards the kitchen. _Deal, you bloody voluptuary, deal._

Halfway to her destination she stopped and turned around to look if he was following and watched him satisfactorily as he sat up on the bed, stretching a little like a big black cat. He dragged his legs off the mattress, lean yet muscular thighs that made her sigh at the sight, that massive thing between his legs dangling and jumping as he got up.

Without a second thought, without even the mildest attempt at leashing her tongue from spitting out the words, she declared amusedly, “You might want to get dressed for the part. Things in the kitchen can get really messy real quick. Many knives lying around, sharp objects. Don't want any precious goods getting chopped off, now do we?”. _Damn me, when did I start making insinuations like these? This is my period, these are my fucking horny hormones talking_...

Loki's jaw dropped, but his surprise swiftly turned into sheer, sadistic amusement, barely contained to just that widening smirk on his face. Other parts of him declared further excitement and at this point, he didn't even care if she saw them plain and clear in all their majestic glory.

“That wouldn't be at all to your advantage, would it?”, he cajoled, casually pacing towards her, those ''precious goods'', as she'd named them, displayed unashamedly, bouncing between his legs with each step.

Andrea's hands came up slowly to her heated cheeks, which seemed to be getting redder and redder the closer he got. She seriously tried with all her willpower to concentrate on his smug face, to keep her eyes on the same level as his and not cast them down to the enormous, heated, manly manliness of him and the silky dark trail of hair that led to them. She didn't feel as ready as she had thought she would be to freely start observing him in such intimate places, but at the same time, she couldn't stop stealing guilty peaks. Immediately, she realised that it was one thing to spy on him while he showered and a completely different experience to check him out while he watched her like a hawk.

He had her trapped in the blink of an eye, even though it seemed like it took him ages to reach her. Only when her bum bumped against the couch's backrest did she realise that the distance between them had been minimized to a bare inch away, her heaving chest pressing ever so lightly against his virile body with each rapid breath she welcomed into her lungs. Her peripheral view was blocked by him to the fullest. All her eyes could see were sharp collarbones, pale skin, pinky lips, raven mane, that god awful azure of his eyes that drowned out everything and then, in one fluid motion that had the breath hitch in her throat, he smirked, bent forward and past her and grabbed the pair of jeans, unceremoniously thrown last night on the couch. A pair of jeans that for the life of her, hadn't noticed was there all along, not even as she made her way to the kitchen.

She stood there, a bit dumbfounded, looking at him as if she was still trying to determine his intentions towards her, not fully realising that he was only retrieving pants. Her green eyes were taking their time to find their focus again, but apparently, it wasn't fast enough for him. That, or he simply wished to frustrate her more with that low, raspy voice of his, the voice he used every time he called her ''woman'' in that caveman style of his that ran so incongruous to the gentleman that he always was. Could he possibly switch personalities so easily during se-.

“Get in your kitchen, little dancer”, he said, a bit too loudly for her poor uncooperative brain, his tone cutting through the silence, “Let's make that breakfast”.

She blinked hard up at him as if something had gotten in her eye and nodded immediately, without fully understanding why. That one simple action of retrieving pants had gotten her so flustered that even the basest capabilities of her system had been shut down. How fast had she gone ahead, interpreting it as a sign of sexual advance, god, she couldn't stop blushing at the thought. How much she wanted that unlikely scenario to have become a reality... She was much hornier than she felt comfortable admitting, that much she could deduce, and he... ooh, he probably knew it already and was using it to torment her.

 _Stupid jumbled hormones, sadistic, playful Trickster, damn you all_ , she thought irritably and slipped away from him to head towards the destination he had commanded, while he tugged his jeans on with the widest, evillest smirk on his face.

Half an hour later they were both standing across from each other on the kitchen island with a cutting knife in their hands and a fat piece of bacon, positioned in the middle of little marble chopping boards.

Andrea had already talked him through the process of what they were going to make, having listed all the ingredients and bossed him around enough with ''get me this and get me that commands'' before she put the murder weapon in his hand and set his victim before him on the island.

“Watch how I do it and then try to do it on your own, okay?”, she suggested, getting a good grip on her knife and positioning her bacon sideways.

Loki nodded curtly and moved his bacon likewise, brows furrowed into a deep, determined, straight line. The meat wasn't as unfamiliar in his hands as he had thought it would be. In fact, it reminded him of his anatomy lessons back in Asgard. Of course, the procedure of cutting this little chunk didn't come close to the utter dismemberment of cadavers, but at least the concept and feel were identical.

He fixated his eyes on the little dancer's delicate hands, his mind set on succeeding both in the observation and the actual task of cutting. She pierced the meat with absolute precision, then tilted the knife a bit to the side in order to make the piece that was about to be cut, thinner. She dragged the knife downwards slowly, holding the bacon still with her other hand and then as the end was approaching, she sliced it quicker, sliding the sharp knife against the marble board to make sure the slice was completely detached from the rest of the meat. She held it up for him to inspect closely and then dropped it into a large plate between them. It was completely raw and bloodless, that slice, briefly making him wonder what kind of wicked procedure managed to suck the blood, the fat residue and the tiny remnants of animal nerves out of the meat so terribly well. Meats back in Asgard always had at least a bit of blood in them, even when they'd been thoroughly roasted.

Looking up at her, he caught her biting the outer edge of her lip, her eyes alight with pure glee as she stared back at him.

“What?”, he asked, shifting from one foot to another, a bit tense under her unwavering gaze. The fact that she was holding a knife in her hand made her look all the more enticing, but in the completely dangerous sense of the word. It was forcing his cock to jump inside the tight confines of his pants and for inexplicable reasons, he caught himself flinching when she shot her eyebrows up and exploded into a full teeth smile, the maniac's smile, the one the murderer assumes when they know they've got the victim's attention.

“I've never seen you so nervous before”, she chirped, but Loki noticed how her voice had dropped an octave lower, bringing out that little growling undertone so often hidden. Most of the time she tempered it down, because of her constant shyness. She refrained from using the full capacity of her chords and speak clearly. Oh, all that was gone now.

“I'm not nervous”, he retorted, lying through his teeth of course. For the first time, he noted that the mellow music she had put on, playing softly in the background, did things to him, making the whole atmosphere much more sensual and almost surreal.

“Your hands are shaking”, she rasped, casting a quick look down at the trembling knife, “Your hands can't shake when you cut meat. You'll cut it wobbly. The size will not be precise”.

“My hands are shaking because you look like Hannibal Lecter, little one”, he informed, his own voice dropping lower, becoming unintentionally threatening.

 _Does it turn you on?_ she thought on a whim. When she saw him grin, a sultry, lopsided grin, she knew that he'd heard.

“Immensely”, he appealed and basked in the rush of blood that surged through her cheeks.

The grin conquered the other side of his face as well at the sight of such a beautiful blush. Her skittish eyes left him entirely and above the smells of bacon, eggs, milk and the porridge she had going on, he caught that scent between her legs, creamy in texture and salty in taste.

She cleared her throat, bringing him back to attention and pointed at the chunk of raw bacon under his hold.

“Wanna try?”, she suggested, her tone relaxing back to amiable casualness, losing the wry edge.

If he hadn't flustered her again, it would still be there, allowing him a further peek into that side of her. The side that challenged him with just a gaze, gifted him with leather straps and plainly told him to shut up every time he embarrassed her.

He was distracted when he centred the knife on the surface of the meat and started to slowly drag it down, trying hard to recount the image of her doing it from moments ago. When he got close to the bottom he slid the knife quicker, but the bacon slice turned out fatter and a bit uneven.

“Good one, handsome. Come on, try again. This time without much pressure. The knife is sharp enough on its own. You don't need to force it down. Slide it and let it do the work for you”, she gently instructed, mimicking the tool's motion with all five fingers.

Loki nodded and gave it another go, trying to follow her tips as best as he could, but unfortunately, he must have forgotten something, because this slice turned out even fatter than the previous one.

He cursed in frustration, “And I thought I was the master of my domain where knives are concerned”.

Andrea smiled encouragingly at him, but shook her head no, “That's exactly the point you keep ignoring, darling”.

He watched her confused as she made her way around the island, coming to stand just behind him. She got up to the balls of her feet and tucked her chin on top of his shoulder to look down at the surface in front of them. He had no idea what she planned to do from that point on, but he crouched forward, limiting his height in order to save her from the exertion of having to stay up on her feet. She whispered a quick thank you and then slipped one arm under his own and the other over the one that was holding the knife. Laying her hand over his black strapped wrist, rubbing her thumb over the warm leather, she leaned closer to his ear, her lips brushing over the shell with every word she uttered.

“This isn't about the skill you have with the knife. This is about how you treat the meat. You're holding it hard. Don't”, she said gently and pried his fingers off the death grip they had on the bacon.

“But if I don't hold it like so it will slip”, he argued, his eyes more concentrated on the thumb caressing his wrist rather than on the meat.

“No, it won't. Let me put it this way, handsome”, she made an introduction, but nothing could have prepared him for her next words, words rough and medically sharp, spoken from such a lovely creature straight into his ear, “This knife is sharpened to cut meat, not living flesh. Your issue is that you treat it like one of your other knives. But those are deadly sharp because when you cut through flesh they are surely going to encounter resistance. The muscles of your enemy, when you fight, are still tense when you slice them open and therefore, tougher. Isn't that right?”.

His breath stopped exiting for a moment as his mind got trapped between her entrancing words about murder and knives and blood. So, when he replied he sounded breathless, not to mention aroused, “Yes... yes, of course”.

“Alright. But look at the meat in front of you. It's not alive. It's dead. It will put up no fight. It's not an enemy, it's a willing participant. Almost like a lover begging you to hurt them. In that case, will you press them down and cut them roughly like a killer, or will you...”, she paused to grip at the knife on top of his own hand, tenderly guiding him towards the surface of the red meat. As they began to drag the blade down together, she continued, “... or will you slice through their skin painfully slow, teasing them with a borderline sadistic pleasure until their yelps...”, they reached the bottom, his hand going limper not so much because he had to establish the manner in which she was going to cut the meat, but due to the pure, unadulterated, melting words whispered right into his ear, words that dripped down to his aching loins, “... turn into moans for more?”.

She scraped the blade across the chopping board, severing the slice from the rest of the chunk like a well-trained chef and lifted it up, eye-high so that he could take a closer look. He looked at it with eyes brimming with fascination and a sort of twisted joy that heated him up so violently that the jolts of electricity travelled throughout his body, straight down to that spot that ached the most. Shoving his balls in the microwave would have been cooler than this, than this sweet torture of hers.

He breathed out a couple of times, able to hear nothing but the pumping of his own blood cells before he managed to draw deep breaths in, as if there were remnants of unresolved tension burying down on his chest that needed to be released at once before the relaxing oxygen could fill him up again. That woman was a deviant seductress and she had no idea...

“Why... why do I sense that you've acquired this skill at a very young age?”, he inquired, watching with heavy-lidded eyes how she didn't just stop at one slice but continued to guide his hand into cutting more and more in the same gentle manner.

She hummed, “That's probably because I did. You see, father liked to hunt during the right seasons”.

“People?”, Loki cajoled maliciously, a wicked grin complementing his mockery.

She giggled disbelievingly, “No, silly. Animals. In Greece, up in the mountains of Thessaly, we have deer, boar, foxes, bears, poor little pigs. He liked shooting them down and he also liked taking me with him to watch. He killed them fast but... when he gave them to local restaurants to be cooked into roasts he always instructed the cooks on how to cut the meat right. I observed and I listened and the rest was cooking books and YouTube”.

She stopped cutting then and let go of his hand to gather the newly chopped slices. She dropped them into the plate and removed the bacon from the board to wrap it in cellophane for later use.

Having retreated her arms from around him, he felt strangely out of place, but not in the sense that he didn't quite belong in the kitchen grounds. It was more like an out of the body experience, as he deaged himself to a little boy and got into her shoes, trying to understand with sympathy and dedication how she must have felt whilst witnessing a man bring down the innocent and harmless.

Observing her closely, he tried to decide on what was proper to say after such a crass retelling. Her memory didn't sit well with him since for some reason, his hidden, soft part twisted and turned causing a peculiar nausea to develop in his stomach. He felt like he needed to vomit at the mental image of a little girl watching her father kill and butcher innocent animals for the fun of it, his hands red with their blood as he showed people how to chop this part and that part of the freshly killed prey. It was a cruel scene. Any sensible person would think so. An obscene time lapse that must have haunted the young woman to the point where she had stopped fearing blood and flesh altogether and instead found an interest in its workings and manipulation. Because if she saw her father do it with such consistency and sick passion, then it should have been right, normal. Or at least that's what she might have thought.

“How old were you?”.

She shrugged, “Don't remember. Ten, I guess”.

He shut his eyes and proceeded in rubbing his lower lip with slow, yet vigorous strokes, the smell of the meat in his hands making him sick to his stomach. She noticed immediately and removed his hand, gently tugging at his wrist as if in a silent enquiry of his well being.

“I'm sorry, lover, forgive me. It's just that...”, he shook his head trying to make the words fall into place, words that he found really hard to edit into not being offensive towards the father or her, “... don't you think that's a slightly disturbing experience for the tender soul of ten years?”.

She smiled compassionately, “Didn't your father take you hunting as a kid?”.

“Why, of course, but Asgard is not Earth. Our customs are quite different. Hunting and killing has been passed on from generation to generation and it is, in a way, written in an Asgardian's genetics. To provide you with an example, Odin took me on my first hunt when I was five and I still dread the memory of him killing with such ease, of the sounds the animals made on their last moments, their distorted flesh from his arrows. Things like that, when you're young and tender, leave a mark on you”, he explained quietly, fighting with himself all the way for admitting such a weakness. Any Asgardian listening to him would have been ashamed, “But of course, now that I listen to your stories... I'm forced to admit that Earth is equally cruel to her offspring”.

Andrea gave him a lopsided grin, devoid of any kind of malice or intent. She took him by the hand and led him towards the burners, where she gave him a big spoon and instructed him to stir the porridge so that it wouldn't get stuck on the bottom. The steams ascending from the small pot made his eyes sweat, but he ignored it and tried to concentrate on the task, anticipating her answer in constrained silence. With the corner of his eye, he saw her coming beside him to rest a pan on another burner, rubbing butter on its flat surface with a smaller spoon before turning it on. Her face was so gentle and relaxed that he felt like he should shout or scream to make it find its expression again.

“Earth is no different than any other planet existing out there. Where there are people, Loki, there's always cruelty and surely some kind of perversion as well. It's just how beings are made, that's what I can plainly understand. My father was exactly like that, you know. It was disturbing at first to see him do all this. But as I turned it over and over in my head and as I kept seeing him do it, sometimes urging me to do it as well, I figured out that it was his way of showing affection. His... I don't know. The thing that got him to relax”, she attempted to explain, “And as I got older, as I began to understand what... or how men are and how they can be... I realised that he was showing softness”.

“How can killing and chopping off parts of an animal suggest softness?”, he almost snorted, his tone rising a bit, as did his anger.

Andrea shifted her gaze from the pan to him, a faint smile playing on her lips, “It _was_ softness and it _was_ kindness. A kindness that he didn't often afford his family, but thought it proper to give to dead animals. And in a sense, we were lucky that he got, at least, that one soft spot”.

“We?”.

“My mum, my sister and me”, she elaborated.

“You have a sister?”.

“Helena, yes. She's much younger. I'm older by three years. She's still in school”, she explained, and Loki didn't miss the glint of hopefulness in her eye as she talked about the tender subject.

“Is she like you?”.

“Huh, hell no. She's the sweet one”, she commented, “The social one, the outgoing. She's... such an optimist about everything, it kills me”.

“Two opposites of a spectrum?”.

“Completely!”, she agreed, giggling softly.

Loki decided against requesting more information on the sister, preferring to change the subject back to the father. He had a hunch that that man was the cause of a lot of things Andrea said or did. Of a lot of things, she wasn't saying or doing, as well.

“So your father has a soft spot for dying animals. Poetic in its savageness, I presume”, he sneered, but only lightly, not wishing for her to take offence. He still had no idea if the feelings she nurtured for him were positive or negative and that left him with little choice as to what words he was supposed to use.

“Yes. Every man has one. His... just happened to be that. And during those moments between the kill and the chopping, I found his and never forgot it. You know, it's kind of beautiful to discover that a rough man can be gentle with something. And I don't mean having a weakness, I mean... showing that he can be... nice, even if he never declares it with words”.

Loki's brows kneaded and rose towards his hairline, forming a triangle that hosted all of his emotion. He had no inkling as to how to determine if her words were voiced with some kind of sympathy for the man or a perverted irony for the affection he granted to morbid, dead things instead of his own flesh and blood. And since he had no potential psychological category to store all this, he simply accepted it as a fact and moved on to the next important question.

“You always talk about him in the past tense. Is he no longer living?”.

She nodded wearily, “He's not dead”.

She left for a minute to head towards the fridge. She took out the pancakes they had bought together the other day and popping the package open, she got one out and threw it into the pan, sliding it back and forth with a spatula to make sure that all the butter would be adsorbed.

“But all tragedies are told in the past tense. So, that's where I like to keep him”.

His face went blank, expressionless, but inside him ruled a heart clenching fear and a crazed agony, urging him by the second to just burst out and blurt out the question he'd been longing to ask. What the fuck did the bastard do to you? Because if that question remained unanswered for much longer, then his imagination would feel free to take over and fill in the blanks for itself, making his head brim with horror scenarios and painful lies. And he was giving a true battle for that not to happen, to stay away from the assumptive notions he so hated.

“You said every man has something with which he's soft. Even rough men”, he stated, changing the subject on a whim, bringing things back to the present. Back to them and the reality, they shared, “What's mine?”.

Andrea laughed wholeheartedly at that as she poured some honey on top of the almost ready pancake. She was supposed to add it after the bread was sufficiently soft, but she wanted to experiment a little and see if the honey could be absorbed while the pancake was still being cooked. Maybe it could, same as with the butter.

“That's a bit obvious, Loki”, she stated, a lingering pinch of laughter in her tone.

“Oh, is it?”, he jested.

“Oh, yes”.

“Then tell me”.

“Women”, she claimed, not even looking at him, the tone of her voice filled with such casualness that he almost thought she was talking about something else. Maybe about the pancake she was currently making. Or about how rainy Edinburgh was. His mouth felt dry from having dropped open and his hand had stilled on the spoon he used to stir the uncanny mixture in the pot.

“Now that's a tricky proclamation. If I confirm it then you might think me a womanizer and if I deny it, you'll somehow tell that I'm lying, which I obviously am”.

She laughed again, “No, I won't think that, because I'm not trying to trap you or prove that you like to fuck. I don't mean it... in that context. Even though that fact proves me right all the more”.

“Then in what context _do_ you mean it?”, he pressed, extremely curious as to what her answer would be.

She removed the pan from the burner, turning it off, and temporarily rested the hot metal on the marble chopping board, wishing to avoid scorching the wooden counter.

“I mean you care about us Loki. You want to look all tough and suave, but each time Mrs Granzioni comes here to help me with the house, you've never once failed to ask her how her children are doing, or her grandchildren. And when she tries to lift something heavy you always get up and take it from her hands to carry it yourself. Not to mention...”, she stammered then, her cheeks hot and red from the thoughts, “... not to mention the way you treat me. That's caring”.

“Or it could simply be politeness and my general gentlemanly ways”, he argued, cocking an eyebrow.

“And is that not caring?”, she questioned, folding her arms in front of her chest.

“That is your perspective”.

Andrea pursued her lips in annoyance, tired of this battle of constant arguing. Why was he so obsessed with proving himself uncaring was beyond her, but she wouldn't allow him to taunt and throw her off. She had to prove to him that he could be kind and gentle and compassionate because he had been. She had heard of it, on occasion witnessed it with her own two eyes.

The words were out of her mouth before she had the chance to consider if it was right revealing such knowledge, “I know what you did in Valhalla. The girls wouldn't shut up about you, do you know that? Or better... do you know why? I bet you do...”.

He smirked at that, but it wasn't triumphant or smug. His face gradually turned melancholy and he looked away from her in sudden embarrassment. What he did before Andrea, mattered not one bit, but that didn't mean she was about to let go so easily. When she realised he did not intend to respond, she filled in for him.

“You topped it all off with shutting this hovel down, but... but we never talked about what you did before that. What you did for the girls...”.

“Did they tell you?”.

“No. Not directly”.

“How did you figure it out then?”.

“I'm observant, I told you. And... I overheard them more than once saying to each other that you've ruined them for life. Before you, many of them had... absolutely no idea what... what a gentle touch meant. They had no idea that a customer could actually... give as much as they took. No idea, no notion that they could be treated with care and respect and have... well, the best time of their lives. They didn't know a man could...”, she hesitated, the words getting stuck in her throat. She was about to summon her courage and just spit it out when Loki finished her sentence for her.

“... could make love to them instead of jackhammering into them against a wall. Use them like toys, but still make them feel treasured and cared for...”.

She nodded, eyes cast down and cheeks hot and not due to the steams from the pan and pots, “Or pay them a fortune for their time. A fortune they happened to keep secret from the manager with whom they were supposed to always share the earnings. Some of them came to me and kissed me goodbye, saying that they were quitting at once because some generous customer had been kind enough to buy them their way out of that place. That was you, wasn't it?”, she asked rhetorically, concluding her thought.

She already knew it was him. Who else could have been? The staff had begun leaving after his very first visit. She remembered all too clearly the secretive whispers of the girls backstage and the humongous, satisfied smile on their glowy faces. She had never wished to be one of them, yet still, that kind of glow, after deep, sated desire, she had envied the most.

For a long moment, he looked at her without speaking, without any thoughts occupying his mind, recalling cautiously his time at the club. In the end, he closed his eyes and rubbed in on them with the pads of his fingers, driving away the sweat from the steams. A half smile appeared on his face.

“I had to, love”, he admitted.

She lowered the temperature of the porridge and went to him, her arms going up and around his neck, fingers fisting themselves into his hair, rubbing at his scalp, his nape, his jaw with the utmost tenderness. His hands gripped her waist, holding her tightly against him, his rawly exhibited desire nestled against the covered warmth of her mound.

“That's why I was kicked out from the last whorehouse I visited, before ending up in Valhalla. Don't even remember its name any more. The owners found out why the stuff had started quitting all of a sudden in such large numbers. Many clients never visited again. Almost everyone had stopped coming, business was rapidly getting poor”, he lowered his forehead to hers and sneered, “Almost”.

“Now, who's all soft and cuddly for a woman in a difficult situation?”, she cajoled, tugging at his hair to drive her point home.

“It's not necessarily because you're women, little one. It's the innocence in some of you that I can't bear to watch being manipulated and coerced. It makes me aware that you shouldn't be where you are. In Valhalla, Andrea...”, he paused, nudging her nose with his, “... some of the women were not as tough as you”.

Tucking some strands of hair behind his ears, she praised, “I know, darling. I was there. I saw it happening every day. But... oh, my chivalrous God. You were never going to tell me you were behind all that, huh?”.

“There are things I don't like bragging about, as strange as that might sound”. They both chuckled at that and settled for some silence thereafter, listening to the mellow music playing in the background, enjoying it while swaying randomly from side to side.

“You have a big, soft heart, Mr Laufeyson that you keep tucked away so that no one can see. That much I can tell about you for sure”.

“Did you confirm it while I pestered you about your period?”, he joked, his hands travelling further down to squeeze her ass, eyes stuck on those giggling lips. He bit his tongue to keep from kissing them.

“No, you damn heathen”.

“Oh, first I'm your chivalrous God and then your damn heathen. Decide, woman”, he rasped roughly, but it wasn't really an order he expected her to follow.

More giggles and soft, plump red cheeks and then she tugged at his hair hard enough to make him hiss, “That soft heart of yours pours out of your eyes in the most inopportune moments of the day. I'm with you, in those moments, that's why I see, even if you don't want me to. I don't call you ''handsome'' only because of your pale, surly face, you know”.

His smile gained that half insane, half acknowledging essence hers had before. Full teeth on display, tempering between nervous excitement and the joy of the maniac who knows he's got all the attention. In this case, his victim yearned for him, called him beautiful, called him soft-hearted when he was trying to hide it with everything he got. It was the strangest occurrence in his life so far to be called these things, so openly and genuinely. He almost chided himself for not doubting her or perhaps, the opposite. With a voice tremulous from the intense emotions, thighs quivering against his own solid ones, afraid to stop smiling just in case he lurched forward and claimed those lips, she was tucked against him and yet, he found himself unable to put his gratitude into words and communicate them.

 _Words relegate to nothing_ , he scolded, _Not to her. Fight for the beauty she bestows on you. Prove it. Don't talk about it. Otherwise, you're unworthy of her, just like you were unworthy of everything else before her..._

“One of these days, little dancer, I'm going to kiss that pretty mouth of yours”, he whispered against her cheek, breathless from his own incessant thinking. Funny how he always chastised her for it and then ended up being the one to do it, constantly doubting how his feelings would come across, how his desires would be taken.

Her lips parted to let out a tiny moan, peppered with that minuscule sigh she released each time she fought with herself over something. Her tongue clicked against her teeth as she purred, “And one of these days... I might find the courage to let you”.

“Why would you need courage? Isn't bravery and courageousness meant for things we wish we didn't have to do?”, he divulged, playfully using her words against her.

She let out a shaky breath that grazed his cheekbone tantalizingly slow and swallowed down her nervousness. At the same time, her hands retreated from his head and descended slowly to his chest, where they stayed splayed wide, her thumbs going over his taut nipples through the fabric.

“It's also meant for things that scare us”, she confessed coyly and decided that she couldn't take more of this talk.

She wasn't ready to confide in him these intimate details, however much she wanted to. Her mind kept flitting back to the moment her heart exploded in such a vigorous love that she knew she needed his lips. She had to feel it, she owed it to herself to experience something so beautiful as this. Yet the fear...

“But for now, bacon”, she chided playfully, seeping some sarcasm into her voice, and gave him a little shove, pointing at the plate in which the meat rested raw and not yet cooked as it should be, “I didn't help you cut it for nothing”. One eyebrow went up in anticipation, to also support the face of complete composure she was trying to pull.

His nerve endings tickled with unresolved tension, his mind temporarily numb from this revelation, shyly reaching his ear in the form of hushed, hesitant whispering. _It's also meant for things that scare us._ Was the prospect, the promise of a kiss so daring that it caused her to feel dread? Had the desire in his voice urged her to believe that he meant more than that? Had she read something that wasn't correct? His doubts were eating him alive, but in favour of the time he wished to spend with her, he pushed it all aside and focused on what she offered him at present.

“One more question”, he said, wishing to conclude, “Before we go back to the bacon you seem to like more than me...”.

She hummed in mock approval, taking the plate with the slices to set it next to a new clean pan, indicating that he should be quick about it. _Please don't ask me that, please don't ask me why..._

“Were you ever going to tell me you knew about my actions in the club?”.

She shook her head no, trying simultaneously to mask the relief plainly exhibited on her face.

“I didn't want to bring you into a position where you... I don't know. Where you might have felt like you had to justify anything. I only told you now, because... because you insist that there's no kindness, no softness in you, but... your actions speak otherwise”, she stammered, twisting her foot on the hard floor, her face heating up as always.

“Look, Loki, I... see it, everything... okay? It's... it's everywhere, from the way you... you touch me to the way you talk to me, in the way you look at me. Gentle and... I don't know... beautiful. That softness. Beautiful, because... I live through sensory experiences. I rely only on what I can touch with my hands, what I can see and smell and feel against me. Sometimes... sometimes my head, my brain... strops going beyond that. And softness... is not something I can see or touch or smell easily, but you... you make it so and my... I have found a purpose for it because you give it shape. I need it now. I didn't before, because I never had it. But now I do and that... that's a bit scary because I don't know how to tell you I need it. All of it... at some point... I want to feel you”, her lower lip trembled as she finished, praying to all gods and deities that he knew what she was talking about, even though she didn't specify.

For some reason, it was impossible to use the exact words in front of him and that irritated her as much as it made her wet to the core, “... at some point, in any way you're willing to show me if it's not too much to ask. Damn it, sorry, I'm stammering like a fool”.

Her hand came up to cling onto her shoulder, her fingers rubbing at the skin in an attempt to self-soothe. She couldn't believe that she'd just admitted such an intimate thing. She shook her head in disbelief as if already needing to accept rejection to her request, a request that had taken her at least five whole minutes to fully express. She knew it was toxic not to feel proud of having managed such a difficult thing and only concentrate on the time it took to say it or the shame she had to go through. As much as she tried though to cease this vicious circle of constant self-loathing, the more it seemed to become unwavering, especially considering the context of her pleading, a context which she stupidly tried to subplot and present as a matter of secondary nature. But Loki couldn't be fooled.

Learning about the twisted sense of affection her father harboured and which he had subconsciously passed on to his rough daughter was nothing compared to how much strength her sole confession of need must have required. She was shunning her father's ways, abandoning that archaic custom of bestowing affection and begging _him_ for something she'd never felt before, using more words than she was comfortable with. What else could he do at that moment to prove that what she yearned for she would receive in tons of unconditional, unspoilt passion?

He sort of always thought he would be the talkative one in this relationship, but as it appeared, she was really making the effort to come out to him, open up and tell him discreetly that she craved that kind of contact, needed to feel it from him, because it was only him she wanted and trusted...

 _If it's not too much to ask,_ he turned that phrase over in his head, trying to determine why she still asked for things she wanted and didn't just take them. Bravery. She always blamed it on herself. Not being courageous enough to take charge, yet each time they were facing a difficult situation, she was the first to take responsibility and own up to things. But what did bravery and valour and such had to do with her desires? _Everything_.

She had never been encouraged, courted, flirted with, egged on, kissed, made love to, fucked, taken. Even a hand gesture once seemed like marriage to her. His mind was in complete disarray, throwing images, words, needs, blood, violence, sex, her skin, her love, her touch, her shyness all in front of his eyes and expected him to do something about it. But sorting all this out could only be achieved with actions, not organisation and words. Sometimes, restoring order requires creating farther chaos. He knew that, so why didn't he put it into action?

Andrea's stomach sunk a little due to the silent time they spent staring at each other. Just eyeing themselves from shoulders to toes, _she,_ wondering how stupid it was of her to say this, _he_... well, whatever he was thinking at the moment. Between the two, he was the one able to read minds, not her. She could only guess based on voice, expression, body posture. And right now he was mute, expressionless, and stiff. What might one deduce about that?

“You're still asking, love”.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, but she shifted them away in a haste once she realised he was smirking. She didn't know what to make of this either. Of course, she couldn't, what with the bomb she had just dropped at his feet. He was probably carefully considering how to digest all of it and that was why he looked as baffled and confused as her.

Not able to wait for explanations, or whatever he was willing to let on, she turned her attention to the only available activity at the moment. With a deep, resigned breath, she dragged her eyes away from the wooden floor and willed her body to turn towards the burners to prepare the pan for the bacon. Occupying her hands with as many objects as possible was the plan of action. Butter, spoon, fork, bacon slice here, bacon slice there, pan, burner switch and then hands...

… hands were stopping her from all that, forcing her with gentleness to let down the things she held and turn around. Her wrists were caught in such a soft grip that if she willed herself enough she could snatch them back and free them. But she wanted to do no such thing. Or she considered it, but instantly decided against it, once her skittish eyes connected to that blue. That sea like blue that lured you into its depths. The blue that drowned you as much as saved you from being drowned.

“Loki forget it”, she blurted out, a sudden lump chocking her up, but she didn't let it show in her voice. She kept her tone steady and forced her face not to form any expression that could betray how much she wanted to cry.

“Forget it? Now you said it, Andrea, you can't take it back”, he cooed softly, one hand abandoning her wrist to caress her cheek. She shivered at the touch, her eyes casting a sideways look at the finger that ran down the small expanse of skin at her left. She looked at it almost suspiciously, as if any minute now it was going to slap her brutally back to reality.

“I wasn't going to take it back... I was just...”, she stated boldly, somehow the extra encouragement of his touch making her braver instead of turning her into the distant coward she always was.

“No. You just wish _me_ to forget. But how can I do that when you're asking so sweetly, so purely?”, he whispered, to the woman that preferred his heart over all others'. To the woman who had just admitted more than lust.

“I can't say it better. I can't ask better”, she confessed, her nose filling up from the urge to cry out.

“And that's alright, my love”, he reassured, “What matters most is that you said it. That you found the courage in you to open up like this to me. You can't possibly understand how honoured that makes me feel. You simply can't. But even so...”, he paused again, his finger travelling down her body, passing by her neck, the soft slope of one breast, her belly and then he wrapped his whole arm around her, leaning forward to place his forehead upon hers.

“Smile for me, love. If you smile for me we can vanquish every tiny bit of doubt eating you inside out”.

Andrea let out a frustrated laugh that quickly turned into sighs of relaxation, her lips forming a smile on their own accord as if somehow his words spoke directly to her body and not her brain.

When he felt her start to give into him, he continued in the same tone, “I've told you twice before, never ask for things. Take them and know that each time I'll surrender them unconditionally. It's truly, as simple as that. Let your heart take over. Let your body go free, without constant instructions. Do as you like, touch me as you wish, demand what you're owed. Don't beg for touch, don't... try to convince me to give it, for there's simply no reason to. Show me what you need and I shall oblige immediately. You want roughness, I'll give it to you. You want softness, I'll give that too. You want control, discipline, you shall get it. You want freedom, I' ll be the first to open myself and let you do as you please. I'm yours. Body and soul”.

Andrea clung to his shoulders needfully, pressing her face against his neck, so moved from these words that she felt like crying all the more, “But... but I'm not... I'm halfway where you are... soul... soul... yes... but... body”.

“You'll get there at your own time and pace. Andrea, I promise you, when you're ready you'll know it and you will show it to me in that magnificent way of yours, just like it's supposed to happen. Do not push yourself into giving me an answer now simply because the subject has been brought up. Don't try to adjust yourself to my wishes and needs. We'll both have plenty of time to discover these things in the near future. But for now...”, he kissed her temple, drawing it out as long as he could, “... for now, just be mine”.

She nodded quickly, agreeing to this small plea for love, for living in the present and enjoying every moment of it. Running ahead would serve her no good, Loki was right. Everything has a time and should be experienced only when that time comes. It didn't matter if it would be now, tomorrow or in a week. For now, her heart was balanced again, resting gratefully within her chest, feeling for him all the strong pulls and experiencing all the tickling palpitations that confessed her love. And that was enough. For now.

“You... you... want me like that... right?”, she chocked out. It wasn't really a question he had to answer to help her make sure. She knew the reply. But for reasons unknown, reasons probably fed by insecurities of the past, she needed to hear him say it. In his unique voice, with his bass chords.

He chuckled, some of the playful laughter seeping into his mellifluous tone of voice, “You daft woman, what do you think?”.

Andrea almost purred at the sound of the sweet insult, nodding and nuzzling her head against his slender one, feeling like a small pet that badly needed affection and attention all the while. No matter, though, it was of low importance. She had the answer she wished to hear. She was complete, her confidence returning and her decisiveness strengthening once more.

“Now, what do you want to do? Tell me and we shall do it”.

She sniffed a little and drew away from him to take a look at the mess in the kitchen. Wiping a stray tear that had stubbornly run down her cheek, she said determinedly, “I want to cook that bacon because I'm starving and then I want to eat with you and then I want us to go to bed and hold each other until we fall asleep”.

“Absolutely”, he agreed immediately, not wasting a second, “Since you're the expert, how on Earth do we cook it?”.

She giggled excitedly, clamping her hand over her mouth to stifle the rest of the onslaught about to pour out. Like a little girl, she rolled her shoulders from side to side, clearly amused by the lost look on his face as he eyed the bacon and the pan with pure confusion. She watched him for a moment, licking and biting at her lips as if that lump in her throat or the tears that had streaked down her cheeks had never existed in the first place. How could he do that? Just a couple of reassuring words, affection in his touch as he gripped her waist in that ''you're mine'' way of his and the look in his eyes that shouted loud and clear ''if you don't stop worrying over things like that I'll straight up kiss you until you suffocate''. She loved it all and she needed more of it in her life. She needed more of him. Was it so easy then for other people who've been lonely and sad for a long amount of time? What? All they could possibly need was another person to ask them what they wanted to do and suddenly, everything felt better? _What do you want to do? Tell me and we shall do it..._

“Come on”, she meowed sweetly and grabbed his hand to straighten him in front of the burners and the tractor, “It's really easy. I'll show you”.

Why had she got so upset about all this, or better, why had she pondered over it to begin with, was simply out of her reach of understanding. At least she knew now that no matter how trivial they sounded inside her head, they ought to be let out, even in that stammering manner in which she had phrased them. They needed to be said and he needed to hear them as much as she did. Everything felt lighter now. Everything was a little funnier, he was a little better, she was a little sweeter and... happier.

Her hormones did a bit of good for once since perhaps it was the tumble of mixed emotional distress and sheer irritation that had urged her into speaking her mind. The first had been easy to tackle and bite back in its beginnings, but the latter kept harassing her with unnecessary outbursts of tears. Tears that, this time around, turned out to be cathartic. But it didn't take away from the fact that she was utterly emotional just before that time of the month. If something got her particularly moved the results would be a salty spill from her eye corners. If injustice and unfairness ruled over South Sudan and the children were paying the price, her nervous system would trigger waterfalls. If Loki was there for her through all the stressing and her quirks and the constant effort to repair her damaged soul, _then fuck me where I stand, I don't deserve this man_ , more tears. At some point perhaps he'd start asking her what was wrong in advance.

She pulled a rubber band from her wrist and tied her hair up into a messy bun, poetically thinking that all the frustration would wash off her face once no insubordinate hairs stuck to it fervently.

“Right. So, there isn't much to do at this point. We just put it on the pan and flip it now and then. Low fire, for sure. We cook it slowly. That's what makes it so good. Here, let me show you”.

And show him, she did. In less than a minute, she had him over the heated pan, carefully laying the bacon slices as he sprinkled them with thyme and the tiniest bit of olive oil.

“Why not put the salt now?”.

“I've tried that once, but for some reason, it turned out really really salty and I couldn't eat it. I don't know why, but it's best to put it after it's made”.

It was a strange sight, she had to admit, watching Loki of Asgard, ruler, Prince, King, Royal Highness, God and all the titles in general, flip bacon with a spatula every now and then to make sure both sides were equally chiselled. Not to mention that each time he flipped them successfully, he turned around to look at her with such a wide smile on his face that it seemed peculiar sometimes, like the way the Cheshire Cat smiled at Alice. A couple of times, he even winked, just to politely let her know that he had mastered the art of flipping bacon in the flat surface of the pan. She thought that he looked weird of course only because Loki was so handsome and aloof at times, so put together and controlled, almost like he had a stick up his arse, so ethereal and... mystically eerie that it was impossible for her to imagine him do anything at all, much less go into the kitchen and follow her cooking instructions.

But he looked so proud and pleased with himself that thoughts like these seemed like tiny pieces of a past, where she didn't know him all that well. He could do anything, she knew it. Under the right guidance, even in activities, he thought himself useless, he could absolutely thrive. All she could do was smile at him with the same mania, clapping her hands in utter excitement and covering his back with chaste smooching kisses between his shoulder blades, rewarding him with light caresses at his ripped sides and lovingly spewing words of applause.

“See? I told you, you didn't even need my help! You're a natural”, she praised, rubbing her nose at the fabric adorning the edge of his shoulder. He chuckled lightly and continued his handiwork after a proper shower of thanks.

She turned around towards the island to add some last touches to her porridge. She knew by experience that porridge without a little bit of this and a little bit of that was downright disgusting but hell, if it wasn't healthy for the body. She would make two bowls. One for him with nuts and trimmed cookies, as he liked it, and one for herself with fruits... dried fruits... preferably...

Her train of thought was interrupted by the next song that went on the playlist. Not remembering at all having included it in her mellow songs list, she bit her lip and briefly wondered if a certain someone had taken possession of her phone when she wasn't looking. If he had, then bless him for his secretly impeccable music taste. Thankfully, it matched her own. People with different interests in songs and genres made her quite anxious to share her own favourites if that made any kind of sense.

“... _my gears they grind... more each day... and I feel like they're gonna grind away_...”, she hummed along, not really daring to sing the words with her rough voice, fearing that she would most certainly sound like a dying animal. She closed her eyes though, knowing that when one of your senses is gone the others intensify. Her ears instantly welcomed the music louder and through them, the melancholy guitar worked its way down to her heart, mending it together with its gentle riffs. She didn't know exactly where this would go, but her hips were jolted into a light, lazy sway that she couldn't control. _Yes, the guitar_. She could definitely blame that for her naughty transgressions later on.

Loki sensed the looseness of arms around him, sneaking under his armpits like traitorous, poisonous vines and long fingers, tense and splayed, travelling down to settle on his hips, where his jeans tugged down just a bit. A naughty nose was rubbing at the spot between his shoulder blades, similar to before, but wilder and rhythmically, as if she was scribbling notes of a melody upon his back, before she abandoned the spot completely and ascended to the nape of his neck, brushing his hair away to find the skin she so treasured. A deep breath was drawn in and let out in the sound of a moan. The hands tried to make him move, fingers burying themselves into his hipbones underneath the plain white t-shirt in a desperate attempt to motivate him.

“Are you trying to seduce me or get me away from your precious bacon?”, he jested, his breath coming harder, being shorter with every try to stabilize it. He looked down, curious to see what he would discover, only to be met with the familiar bulge, only this time, her damn beautiful hands were so close to it, almost luring the heat out of it with their sensual doings. Thoughts of her grabbing him, not simply touching him, flooded his mind and he caught himself feeling as if about to tumble over the edge. In all his life, he had never wanted for a woman to just grab him by the rear, or the front, and squeeze the hell out of him.

And then to top it all of, to end him completely and unquestionably, she chuckled, the soft yet gruff sound piercing through his pale complexion and sending a pleasant shiver down his spine, “Both”.

Her lips trailed down to the beginning of his spine, making the skin break out in gooseflesh, “Dance with me”.

“I don't know how to dance. That's your area of expertise”, he argued and tried to ignore her, flipping his bacon just a tad faster than before. It had turned dark pink by now and when it became tinged with brown at the corners she had informed, it meant it was ready. He wanted to focus on that, but those hands on his hips...

“... _it's heaven on earth in her embrace... her gentle touch and her smiling face_...”. He honestly had no idea how to dance in abandon and how to give in to the mellow beat of the music or let his body go. In Asgard, they only taught the traditional dances and something close to Midgard's waltz, all of which were strict in pace and rhythm. Nothing like the lovely, passionate way Andrea moved. And yet, under the guidance of her devious hands, he started to move his hips into a slow grind, a timid sway, which he wouldn't have noticed he was performing if it wasn't for her applauding voice.

“You couldn't cook either, but look at you now, doing backflips with that spatula”, she cajoled and made him chuckle delightfully, “And why do you think you can't dance? That's not what I'm feeling, handsome”.

“What are you feeling then?”.

She hummed along with the song some more, a song which he liked to some strange human extent. Most of the music, if not all the tracks, she shared with him now and then, sounded most enjoyable to his ears, more so when she danced to them with that sensuous body of hers.

“I'm feeling you moving”.

“Moving is not dancing”.

“Yes, it is. When you want to soothe me, you rock me from side to side in your arms. That's a form of dancing. Turn around and I'll show you”, she proposed, her voice quiet and compelling.

He sighed heavily, resigning himself to the embarrassing moments that were bound to follow. Putting down the spatula on top of a kitchen cloth of some kind that she had arranged by the burners, he turned around towards her, feeling his shirt twisting lightly around his waist, where her hands were now gripping him gently.

She smiled brightly up at him, her moisturised lips stretching to full capacity, wrinkling the outer corners of her eyes. When she drew him closer, his hands went instinctively to her waist, while hers slid around to the base of his spine. Without warning him, she turned around swiftly and brought her back flash against his front, pulling his hands from her waist down to her hips, cupping them under her soft palms and keeping them tight where her hip bones protruded the most.

“... _I'm just one wishing... that I was a pair... with someone, oh somewhere_...”. She left the strength of his hands, silently commanding him not to move them from where she'd put them and snaked hers up behind his neck so that her dexterous fingers could tangle into his raven mane. He didn't know why, but as she ground her bum against him and as he felt the bones he was holding move under his steady palms, the need to continue sway suddenly overtook him and so he kept it up, not fairly certain if he moved correctly, but doing it anyway.

“Come on, handsome. Didn't you say I can use you however I want?”, she bargained then, lowering her head onto his shoulder.

“Using my own words against me?”, he whispered against her hair, the shudder that went through her, more important than anything else, “Clever”.

“Shh”.

Experimentally, he bent his knees a bit and let one hand skim up to her belly, wishing to feel as the muscle twisted tensely, clenched and unclenched deliciously, totally in tune with the movements the rest of her body was pulling off. In his mind, he resembled it with the tightening of a woman's belly in the throes of pleasure or perhaps the beginning of a coupling, when two bodies come together, one seeking comfort and warmth and the other offering it with pulls and eager clutches. Holding her like this, he found, he could adjust his own way of moving better than before, even though his tight grip on her meant going through the almost masochistically torturous process of those soft plump cheeks rubbing and bumping and grinding repeatedly against his poor cock. How much could the man endure before bursting?

“Nice”, she praised, drawing out the word to emphasize the affirmation, “Now take my hand”.

He did as instructed and watched her straighten her spine in that unfurling, sleepy cat's stretch before she raised their mutual grip above their heads and used it as an anchor to swirl on the spot. A couple of pirouettes later under the umbrella of his arm, she dragged his hand down and wrapped it around her upper section and crouched and rolled into his arms, like a delivered present. Now safely gathered, tucked in his embrace with her red, sweaty cheek pressed against his chest, he felt relaxed and truly in peace with himself.

“... _all those sleepless nights and all those wasted days_...”.

“Now don't let me fall”, she demanded softly and even though he had no clue what she meant, he gripped her waist tighter.

Just then, when she felt him oblige, she let one foot slip and threw herself back, bending her spine over the security of his arm, draping herself over it as if she was his carefully folded coat. He lowered his face closer to that outstretched neck, observing thrilled, all the little nerves and veins and tendons as they popped out of the skin, noticing that as the light from the open windows hit them, it made them look like a piece of art. A sculpture's favourite master piece.

“... _what more can I do... I'm wringin' myself dry... and I can't afford to lose one more teardrop from my eye_...”. With his support, she gathered herself up and found her steady footing again, that bob of hair, dark and curly, gently whipping the air. His hands remained locked around her while she worked on extricating her own from the limited space between their bodies. Soon they ascended his chest, leaving the skin tingling as they passed, and wound around his neck, holding onto him loosely, but unwaveringly. He was smiling like an idiot, he knew it, but if she saw it, she made no comment on it.

They danced to the rest of the song, slowly rocking from side to side, shifting from foot to foot, like a boat undecided as to whether it's going to capsize or not.

Unfortunately, nuzzling their mouths and noses against each others' necks, neither Andrea nor Loki caught a whiff of the fire burning in the pan.

Later that morning, as they sat on the table to eat, they confirmed with a disgusted grimace on their faces that the bacon was... quite crunchy.

 

***

 

That night, hours before the party, Loki came clean about it all.

Regardless of the fun, they had that morning when the melancholy afternoon gave way to the consuming blackness of the night, he became restless and as much as he tried, couldn't close his weary eyes, not even for a couple of minutes. So he sat at the edge of the bed, naked and worn out, like an old, wise wolf, long tired of the hunt, and withdrew into the dark corners of his mind. And what chaos did he encounter there...

Spontaneously he thought that Hamlet, Andrea's favourite fucked up yet completely sane character, was quite right when he said _when sorrows come they come not in single spies, but in battalions,_ because now, one simple but terribly deceitful invitation had managed to bring to the surface many insecurities of the past. Lonely events, sad occurrences, secluded existences, even when surrounded by countless people...

 

_Your purpose... was to die..._

 

_So I'm... I'm nothing but a stolen relic, locked away until you have use of me... now it all makes sense, how you favoured Thor all those years..._

 

_What good were you in your cell?..._

_Who put me there... Who put me?..._

 

_There's nothing more you can say, Thor. I've made up my mind._

_Brother, please, reconsider. Where will you go?_

_Anywhere but here will suffice._

_Just think about it one more time. In the meantime, I'll go talk to them and-._

_And what Thor? What? Repeat yourself? No. I don't belong here and you know it. That's why I'm making it easier for the both of us..._

_Loki, please, we need you._

_I don't think so. Everyone seems to be handling everything just fine._

_I, need you._

_No, Thor, you don't. You've got your life set up here. Go live it._

 

Andrea woke up to him raking his hands through his hair. His shoulders were slightly haunched in order to support his elbows on his knees. The bed was getting colder and colder. She had somehow sensed it in her slumber, the instant and only justification in her mind that he was absent from her side. How long had he been up? And more importantly, _why_ was he up?

In advance, she felt that familiar tinge of guilt crawling its way under her skin as she considered that maybe his mood had been affected by her morning revelations in the kitchen. The story of her father and his hunting habits, a story she had never dared to put into words prior today, and only allowed it to exist in the confines of her mind. She reflected that someone listening to such a memory could potentially be shocked. Blood and animal violence were just a taste of her first experiences in life. Not everyone had the stomach to accept such brutal truth and she knew that Loki's underlying vulnerability, the softness he nurtured deep in his soul, was fragile and tender. Perhaps, under the light of these considerations, it had been a terrible mistake to let him in on such things. Had she compromised that tenderness with her scarring early life story? Had she maybe triggered his own memories of upbringing and uncaring fathers? Or was he anxious over other events, which he hadn't told anyone, events that commenced... potentially not so long ago?

 _I don't want to expose us to them_ , he had said.

_Why, handsome? Have they done something to you?_

_Don't ask me that. Not now, love._

Asking him if he was alright would be plain stupid. He clearly wasn't and the biggest agony was not knowing the reason why. Was that how he felt each time she dropped enigmatic hints about her past? Did he feel so... helpless in the pursuit, in his unquenchable need to help her?

“I'm scared...”.

It was barely a whisper, but she heard him. She heard him all too clear. It was voiced quietly and so, so fearfully that her heart stopped beating, the breath lagging in her lungs, momentarily suffocating her. So low was his voice, turned into nothing, but a delusional mumbling, if one wasn't paying attention. To her, it felt like a test that would confirm if she caught it or not. If she hadn't what would have happened?

She refrained from answering even her own questions, afraid that if she uttered the smallest of words, he'd drop it altogether, apologise for waking her up, all surprised and stunned that he had done so since he was always quiet as a cat. Then he'd jump back to bed with her and it would be absolutely over. At least that was what she suspected would happen.

Instead, she threw the soft black blanket aside and crawled to his naked form at the very edge of the king-sized bed. She got up on her knees behind him, paying extra attention to her balance, not wanting to create a dip close to his seat, and touched his shoulders as gently as she could. Her stomach turned upside down when she sensed him tensing up, but she was at the same time grateful for the physical warning.

His guard was up, he was at his most vulnerable states. Exposed, bare, so his physical reaction was essential to fight off the probable initiation of a conversation. How painful it was to think that he felt like an uncovered nerve under the impending threat of the needle.

Her solution to almost everything was touch, a means which so far she had only used when it came to her personal matters. Now it was time to use it for the one person in all this turmoil of living that she wanted, loved, needed the most. The reassurance of her physical presence. And so despite his strict indication that this kind of contact was too intimate to bear at the moment, too close for comfort, she slid her hands down to his chest, making sure that her thumbs passed over the sensitive buds of his nipples.

They both understood three simple things. The need to feel small and protected, the silence and themselves. And that was what she would give him.

She was everywhere at once. One minute she was caressing his ribs, slowly running her fingers over the ridged skin. The next, she was on her way down to his belly, where she cupped each ab, pressed her palm against it, softened and warmed it until he gave up and sighed tremulously. His chest hair was perhaps her favourite spot, so she paid it extra mind, swirling the little grey wires around her fingers and smoothing them back down until he shivered pleasantly. She kept offering him communication, or the chance to communicate, hoping that after a couple of moments, after she'd uncovered all his bodily weaknesses, he would be relaxed enough to stop stubbornly withholding and begin listening to the cathartic needs of his mind. And that's how it ended up happening.

The tighter she engulfed him in her faceless embrace, the more he crouched his shoulders and folded his body in half to fit into the warmth. Soon he had bent his head so forward, his shoulders becoming almost a flat surface, that Andrea could easily rest a cheek against the expanse of muscle. She held him like that for what seemed like hours, occasionally digging her fingers into the skin she touched to remind him of her support and adamant will to stay right by his side.

Eventually, he ceased withdrawing, trying to escape the calming effect she had on him. His posture became more relaxed, slouched even. Sighing, breathing in and out deeply, as if he inhaled and exhaled thick black smoke, he swallowed all elements of stupid pride and reached for her.

He snaked his hand upwards in search of her head. Trembling fingers tangled into her unruly hair, tugging her down gently, but with a sort of restrained urgency that had her bending forward in milliseconds, basking in the fact that he needed her closer to his neck. The spot was stretched out, as his head was angled to the side, the blueish veins and tendons painting the skin, strained like wires. She wanted nothing more than this freedom. This affirmation that he needed her close to him, even in this hour of utter misery and loss.

Caught in the haze of her feelings suddenly magnifying towards him, she touched her plump lips to his shoulder, where his delicate collarbone ended, above the broad sternum. It was a timid kiss, even though it had been rocketed by a soul-consuming bomb of emotion. Nonetheless, he shuddered, closing his eyes to welcome the sensation deeper and deeper into his very core, the base of his foundation. It's under strong hands that you turn into jelly.

She dived in again to tease the skin back and forth with her lower lips, salivating it a bit so that when her hot breath landed on the spot, he broke out in goosebumps. She nuzzled her nose, breathed him in, kissed the skin again in the tenderest way she could and then released it with a barely audible pop of lips colliding, all the while having absolutely no idea why she was behaving like this. She had admittedly, never done such an intimate thing to a man's body and it might not have seemed as anything much, but for her, it meant the world. She was acting like a little animal trying to cheer up her master, while he shivered and hardened his grip on her hair with each breath he let out. And she loved every single moment of it.

“I lost everything”, he muttered, the painful longing in his voice jolting her lips into taking their next action on his neck. This time she didn't detach them, “It's strange, to say the least, how one minute I was a King and the next... my kingdom, the legacy I was so desperately trying to establish and leave behind, turned to ashes before my eyes. Turned to... a complete nothing. Wiped out of the galaxy, almost as if it had never existed in the first place. Or... as if it did not matter enough to have people turn their eyes skywards to seek it out. As if it was not worthy”.

He took a deep breath, his voice less determined when he continued, “I died two times in this life and each I came back as something new. I died a third, but... came back as nothing at all”.

“No”, she argued softly, brushing her lips against a pumping vein, “The loss of where you come from, your home, your kingdom, even your house, is tragic, I know it, I felt it. But it's only a piece of you. And it's that piece that died, not all of you. It's only physically lost, Loki. It's still alive in memory and... it also lives through its people”.

“Yes, it does, but I'm not part of it any longer, now am I? It... they, don't want me”, he added, his stomach tightening at the sound of the admission. _Trust her_ , his heart shouted. _Leave the past where it belongs_ , his mind insisted. And the both of them hit him right in the stomach.

“Are you talking about the Asgardians... or the Avengers?”.

“I don't know any more. Don't they all live on the same planet now? What difference does it make?”.

“Black people also live on Earth, but they are not all from Africa. Not all kinds of fish live in all sorts of lakes. The moon is in the sky every night but not everyone can see it from their balcony”, she chirped, mentally crossing herself to hear him laugh. She only got a half smile though and a quick rub on the back of her scalp.

“Then I guess all of them, little dancer. Asgardians didn't want me back on Asgard. Were I not under Odin's guise whilst ruling, do you think I would have been accepted so easily? In addition, the Avengers don't want me on Earth. They've made that abundantly clear many a time”, he informed casually, but deep down Andrea knew he didn't say those things with a light heart.

They hurt him, they burned him and on top of it all, he was trying to make them sound like everyday happenings. But there was no mistaking the distant tone of his voice. A voice that during other times was always full of that smoky timbre she always became wet from. That sensual mischief that suggested things could always become a bit more exciting than they already were. It was almost as if there were two sides fighting inside him. One fought the other on whether or not the past was important enough to be discussed with a second person. Her, a significant other.

“What did they do to you?”, she asked, this time wording the question as a fact.

A bitter, cruel chuckle reverberated within his chest, “Oh, it was quite the opposite actually. They did nothing”.

Her brows formed an inquisitive bow, “They... they ignored you?”.

Her words appeared to have hurt him, for he tensed again under her touch, his muscles twitching with tempered violence as if he had been electrocuted all over with tiny wires. He shook his head, confirming the answer.

“Just like all the rest, I was a refugee too, willing and ready to put the past behind and help them in whatever mission, in whatever concept of supposedly protecting this planet they thought themselves obliged to take up. But I was deigned unworthy, you see, or better, plainly worthless”, he surmised, and although he spoke harshly, there was no exaggeration coating his tone, only a flat fact giving line of muted sound, “A worthless refugee, disabled from fixing his own fucking case”.

Andrea sucked a shallow breath, feeling her mouth dry from the intake. Intake of air, words, emotions, secrets. Her eyes weren't blurry any more. Everything had suddenly become stark clear, similar to how the clouds are rapidly drawing back from the sky to let the sunshine. She did not have to read into it much. She did not need to replay his words, nor place herself in his shoes to feel what he felt. She did not have to look into his eyes to see the truth. It was all laid out in the way he spoke. The bitter juice of loneliness, inadequacy, pain and loss dripped from his lips and bled into his expression, the sticky mixture heavy in scent and impossible to digest. Like the raw yeast before it's added to the whisky. Like wax in a beehive. Greasy stalactites in a cave refusing to let the water drops glide down.

A cast out King he was, from everywhere he went, except when under the guise of somebody else, which in that case constricted him from being himself at all. How isolating in itself must it be? She remembered someone wise once saying that hate is not the opposite of love. Indifference is. But her poor man had never wanted the Avengers' love. He simply wanted the absence of indifference. Respect. Attention. The chance to prove himself worthy of their time. But he hadn't received any of that, which only led her to consider that indifference was actually the opposite of many, many needs, all human and basic and simple in all their complexity. Worthlessness had been tattooed on his back, like a dirty stigma, and even though he knew that he didn't fit the description, by far, he couldn't help but embrace the feeling. Nobody used his skills, his wisdom, his intellect, how could he possibly subvert an emotional state that kept being triggered by the same treatment? A realisation like that made his case even more insufferable and defective.

How trapping must it truly be to acknowledge your capabilities and worth, your good will and changed heart and yet have everybody around you act as if you're useless and suggest you're the opposite of all of those things, either in your face or behind your back. The self-doubt that must have festered inside him for so long...

Andrea shut her eyes and bit her tongue, hoping that the pain would somehow force her opinion to be objective. But how could it be? Her heart went out to him, no matter how much she tried to be brainy about it all.

“I'm sorry”, she whimpered, not able to hold herself back. Without noticing that she did it, her hands found his chest muscles and massaged, gliding his nipples back and forth under the hotness of her palm, just as she had discovered he enjoyed. It was the only thing she could do. Her body's last resort at making him feel nice again. Worthy, wanted, desired, needed.

“Your empathy shows no bounds, little dancer”, he cooed, reading right through her, some small portion of the mischievous glint returning to his voice.

“I can't help it. Sorry. I just... I can't think of something to say that would make you feel better. All... all I have is...”, she detached her hands from his body for only just a moment and looked down at them with such longing, as if all the solutions to their problems were written in the crossed and parallel lines, “I want you to be comfortable to tell me more, but I don't know how to do it with... I'm lost for words right now, but... you're a little lost too, I think, so...”.

Already blabbering and hot behind the ears she cast him a quick look and saw that ever encouraging smile that urged her to go on, no matter how difficult it was to will her tongue to form the things that needed saying. She was attempting to use her body as a medium, but she quickly realised that touch can be solid, but the truth, spoken out loud, straight into his ear with selflessness and wantonness could set him right without leaving even the smallest amount of doubt to creep in.

“Loki... I'm here. I'm here, alright? And I'm not going anywhere. And trust me when I tell you that even if... even if not another soul in this world wants you, mine _does._ What we have, here, now, I want that. I want you. That matters to you does it not?”.

“Of course it bloody does”, he stated none too gently, yet not unkindly. He tugged at her a little harder, his hand coming to rest on top of hers on his chest. He squeezed it, kept it in place, kept her in place as well, “Everything you say, everything that you are, what do you, what you give me, all of it matters to me, Andrea. You're my present and my future, while they are simply the morbid past”.

She preened at the praise, biting the edge of her bottom lip in sudden anticipation, the back of her neck all hot and sweaty for some reason. Regardless, she composed herself hastily and focused back on him, “Same applies to you. Present and future, but Loki, I can see the past still upsets you. If it haunts you, if it hurts you... handsome, please talk to me about it. Please”. _Same thing goes for you too, you stupid girl,_ a voice inside reprimanded, but she pushed it out of her mind. This wasn't about her in any context. But that sheer irony of her own words hit hard...

“Sometimes... it does. Some other times, it only leaves me numb. Often, there is only an emptiness inside”, he turned his head to the side and gave her an appreciative once-over, a small filthy smile tugging at his lips, “ _Was_ ”, he corrected, “There's really not much worth telling, especially since it's all over now”.

“Is it over though? Because tomorrow we are both marching in on hostile territory and I want you to go in there like a bloody proud Scottish marauder, all kilts and suave gait, and head held high and that smug scowling face I so love to see, back on!”, she preached in a demanding high pitch. Well, as high pitch as her voice could get.

Loki threw his head back on her shoulder, laughing and slightly wheezing at the rowdy comments and inaccurate metaphors. As it appeared... he didn't feel so heavy any more. Not when he talked with her like this.

“And I promise you, I will. But-”.

“But what?”.

“It's not me I'm worried about, lover”, he confessed, the stretch of lips from the previous fit of humour, slowly cresting back to a hard line.

Andrea drew her head back, eyes squinting at him, slightly offended. The deep crease between her brows betrayed her bruised ego, “You're worried about me? Me? Why would you...? I think... I think I can handle myself Loki”.

“No, no, no, love, no. I know you can. You're about the toughest, most strong spirited woman I know. And I've seen the results when you get physical, for sure. It's them I'm concerned about. Them and the poison they can throw at us”, he explained, placing a soft kiss on the side of her jaw, “They isolate, they manipulate, they divulge and tear apart everything that stands in their way. I've lived with them enough to know that they are more than capable. Usually, I admire skills like that, but not when they are directed towards me. Towards us”.

“They... they did all that to you?”, she asked tentatively, not sure if the subject was sensitive or just annoying.

When he nodded, a little piece of her heart broke, more so when she heard that quiet voice again, “Some. But it's only fair. I enforced some of those things on them, as well. An eye for an eye it is”.

She felt like cursing or throwing something against a wall somewhere, but she reigned the destructiveness and mayhem in for the sake of acquiring more knowledge.

“Your time there wasn't very enjoyable, I gather”, she began by stating the obvious, “What about Thor?” Didn't he do something? Didn't he try to help?”.

Loki half smiled at the mention of that, memories that he couldn't quite let on right now, flashing before his eyes like headlights, “He tried and failed, as all good men do”.

She sighed, nodding her understanding. Of course, Thor would fail. Not in the sense that he didn't possess the brains to defend his brother, no. He was simply one against so many and it goes without saying that these people he was trying to protect Loki from were actually his friends and colleagues. How much could he pressure them to come around without going down with the ship himself?

“So you left”.

“I left”, he repeated, his lips slowly parting as he felt her press her wet mouth against his pale flesh, her breath tickling him deliciously.

They didn't speak for a few moments, the silence proving itself too beneficial and curing to be ruined. It helped her immensely in her effort to digest his mindset about the whole funfair tomorrow. He was indeed scared, that much was certain. Not of them though, bit more of the impact they could have on them both. He seemed to be disturbingly familiar with their ways and of course, she trusted him to know best. But by nature's command, she was a vindictive female. She wanted to go to that party and for perhaps self-centred reasons prove everybody that doubted them wrong. She felt entitled to capsize by her sheer will opinions based on assumptions and biased beliefs that had marked _her_ as a harlot and _him_ as a criminal. What was an insult to her man posed an insult to her as well, fair and square and she wouldn't allow anyone to define what she felt, what she did and who she felt it and did it with. No. One wound from the international advisor had been enough. She wouldn't take another hit and then consequently project it to him too. Damn her is she didn't manage to help him pull through this obstacle, this storm on the horizon which he felt so threatened, so invaded by. Fearing interrogation or judgement was illogical. What they had was real and, by god, it shouldn't be this difficult to live it, love it and experience it deeply. This too _would_ pass.

“I'm a little nervous too, you know”, she confided, her gentle bass voice breaking towards the end due to an unexpected yawn, “I mean... I've never been particularly good at meeting new people. Introductions make me nervous, keeping up the conversation... tires me, I suppose, and the noise... Sometimes I wish I had your talents in talking”.

Loki laughed a little, “It is both a blessing and a curse. But it's of no importance, little dancer. You make up for it in poetry and swift prose. I wager you write like a philosopher”.

“Oh no no, I write like a romantic. And my prose is... is not that swift, but I guess I can keep up”, she mocked good-heartedly, pursuing her lips just a bit.

“Nonsense. You can absolutely match me. Your sass is lovely when you let it out. You're simply too kind all the time”, he praised, a smile breaking through his own exhaustion.

Andrea's eyes fell shut for a moment, her mind torn between keeping up the talking and just dragging him back to bed to try and resume their sleep.

“Remember what you said to me? We fight together. Never-”.

“-never apart”, he finished for her, shifting the position of his head to look at her better. She wore a deep, serious expression of pure determination, fight and fit even though shuttered and sleepy. That was so like her, he pondered for a second. It was so like her to push through, intent to win, to help, to soothe, to love, to prove herself strong enough to stand beside him and share the burdens and then be all shy, coy, flustered and completely make him melt from adoration.

“But... in every wise fight, there must always be the option of a smart retreat, the way I see it. So promise me, handsome, that the minute you feel like being there is getting too much for you, you tell me and we are out of there immediately, okay?”, she requested, batting her eyelashes at him prettily, trying with her delicate hands to drag him back at the top of the bed.

He took the hint and whilst chuckling, helped her get him where she wanted him, where he belonged. With her hands still around him and her mouth, whining and whimpering and giggling against his neck, he felt like the most protected, the most shielded man in the world, not to mention the luckiest. Thoughts of destruction, self-pity and threat were pushed at the far back of his mind, no longer bothering him. Everything could go to hell tomorrow, but this moment... this moment in her arms, was right and put him at a relative ease that he sought out like an addict.

“I will. And you will too, little one. There will be noise there and too many people, most of them in a hostile mood if I might add. If you feel triggered by any of it-”.

“I wont. I wont Loki. I don't... I don't like people, especially people who have already made up their minds about me. Who are already prejudiced towards us, but, I'll make my heart steel and meet them and maybe... maybe try to understand them... before proving them wrong. If I feel like it”, she suggested, winking at him and the sound of his chuckle against the skin of her neck felt like the heavens opening their silver gates.

“Who are you and what did you do to my coy, stammering little dancer?”.

She hummed, giggling again in that delightful way of hers and cajoled, her own joking bringing a shade of pink on her cheeks, “When I'm sleepy, drunk or horny I tend not to filter what comes out of my mouth”. _Oh, God, he's right. Who am I any more?_

“Which one are you now?”, he asked, brushing her hair away from her face to reveal half open lids and luscious rosy lips, parted and waiting, moisturised with some colourless balm that smelled of vanilla and coconut. How he'd to touch them...

They were already under the warm, fuzzy covers, which had been under her insistence, this large and fluffy, laying on their sides, looking at each other, observing up close the perfect imperfections of their faces. But her lips... there was no imperfection in her lips. _How soft they must be_...

His fingers were approaching before he had the chance to realise the action itself, his hand moving as if it had a mind of its own. She stood still as he glided his thumb against her battery lower lip, her eyes lethargic but somehow fully aware, intelligent.

He'd only done this once before, that day he had drawn her that beautiful bath to relax her. The feel of his pad sliding across, wetting itself with the balm she liked to put overnight, was fluid and tantalizingly slow. Her stomach clenched violently, her legs felt heavier and her breath was caught in her throat. A burn, not like the usual sensation you get when you're overly warm, but more of a descend into hot lava that slowly inches closer and closer to the heart with every second that passes overtook her. She remembered how last time she yearned to lick his finger, taste him in her mouth, taste the sweat and saltiness of the skin on the flat of her tongue. And that burn in her heart, cascading down her belly, her thigh, her labia. That was blood, she realised. That was blood pumping, showing her that she could still feel alive, he could make her feel it, he could force it or coax it out of her with just that simple contact.

Loki retracted his now covered in balm finger from her lip and brought it into his mouth, sucking at it gently, savouring the taste of vanilla, coconut and salty, oh so salty Andrea. It looked so obscene as an act that she cast her eyes down and smiled like a school girl, a wide full teeth smile that forced her eyes to squint and shut tightly. He saw her blush red as a poppy, her cheeks heated with shame and unsatisfied desire.

“You're not going to tell me?”, he reminded after noticing that they had both been silent for too long since the question was first out of his mouth.

She scooted closer to him, furling her hands up and tucking them between their bodies. He put his arm protectively around her shoulders, his hand drawing her in, pulling her closer until he felt that aristocratic nose of hers bump his chest, her breath hitting him gently as her body began to shut down and fall into a restful sleep. A whiny, negative ''mm hm'' left her lips, followed by a giggle that warmed him whole. She had cowered again, shied away, but it didn't matter. Tomorrow they would have more time to build, to add to the other side of her.

For now, he was simply thankful and content to be sleeping with her wild hair shoved into his nose, tickling him magnificently every time he breathed.

 

 


	29. demolition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party time has arrived. This terrible occurrence, at least from Loki's perspective, will bring with it friends and foes that will either stand as a shoulder to cry on or as obstacles of the worst sort. Will the couple survive through the many storms to come? Storms that had begun in the past and somehow are now being dragged on into the future? Will the lies and the pain tear them asunder or bring them closer than ever before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, hello everyone. My brain right now is in the midst of the worst hurricane in the history of hurricanes. First of all, I am mad. I am really, really mad because I am making this upload via the public internet of a library/cafe and a bunch of people here are using it and a bunch of other people clearly have no clue what a library means. There is no peace, there is no quiet. None of the core values of what a library should be can be found here, whatsoever. So, in the light of that, I have a few notes to make here in the note section before I can let you go ahead and read. I know you have been waiting for this chapter longer than you should have and that is completely my fault, as I had explained in the previous note I had uploaded on September the 6th. It would be great if you could just take a quick look here before delving into the juicy stuff. I know you can't wait, but I got a thing or two to explain first. 
> 
> 1\. Pictures are pretty much self-explanatory and they don't belong to me. Rights belong to their respective owners, as always. They serve the purpose of putting together that delicate and chic black and white aesthetic that I love so very much and adore to incorporate in my writing. You have probably guessed it by now. It's basically faceless pictures of supposedly Andrea and Loki dancing and drinking and I have also tried to offer you an idea of their formal outfits for the special night. Feel free to develop your own ideas as well. 
> 
> 2\. I have Grammarly downloaded, for obvious reasons, it's a sort of editor-corrector in spelling and grammar and sometimes it offers me alternative words when I'm stuck. Perhaps you know it, perhaps you don't. Anyway, it has counted about 350 mistakes in my chapter, but the thing is... I would correct each and every one but I already tried that once and the whole page went down and I had to do everything from the beginning. From scratch. That's what I'm doing right now actually and part of my nerves can be allocated to that unfortunate event. I think the page went down because of the bad connection and because the chapter has a remarkable word count. I can't do anything about it for now, sorry. All I can promise you is that I'll come back to this chapter and edit the mistakes out as soon as I get my own home broadband, otherwise known as home wifi. But until then, those mistakes are going to have to stay. Please, don't cringe too hard. I promise they'll be gone as soon as I get the chance. 
> 
> 3\. This is a really big chapter. Really big, perhaps the biggest I've written so far so please read with caution because I have tried to incorporate many things and perhaps I haven't succeeded everywhere. SERIOUSLY, I AM GOING TO BUST THAT GUY'S HEAD, HE'S LITERALLY SCREAMING INTO MY EAR ABOUT HIS PARISH OR SOMETHING. THIS IS A LIBRARY YOU ASSHOLE. Sorry. What was I saying? Big chapter. Read carefully. I apologize in advance if not everything makes complete sense. I tried but like I mentioned in the previous note a lot of things are going on in my life right now, lots of welcome things and lots of unwelcome things as well. Unfortunately, my writing has been influenced by these events and has become a bit distant and complicated when it shouldn't be. Sorry for it, this is how I see it, I'm personally working on correcting it, as well as other things that need correcting and attention. Psychological things. I will not get into much detail now, because I really want to get up and leave from this library, but in the next chapter I'll give you a better insight into what's been happening. Because... remember all those reasons I gave you for the chapter limitation? Let's just say that problems keep multiplying. But you don't need to worry about that now. 
> 
> Enjoy your reading and I hope I see you soon again. Please, please, please, do comment. Comments can save lives. Everything you have to say, write it, send it, give me something else to think about. Give me more Andrea and Loki to think about, because my own life feels like it's at pieces right now. Thank you, your friendly comment slut.

Christmas had arrived at last, the holy night that hid countless possibilities behind its yet to fall, dark veil of mystery. The night was bound to go either completely great or disastrously wrong. Which was to be the defining case was yet to be decided.

Afternoon had come earlier than was comfortable for the couple, which had conveniently spent the day bundled in and under the covers like sloths, hair in absolute dissaray, bodies shaking with occasional giggles from jokes and nuisances and hearts beating fast and hard either bouncing against the mattress, when they rolled here and there, or against each other's chests, when they fell asleep on a whim, wrapped in one another's hot and sweaty embrace. It almost goes without saying that this chilled routine was only interrupted whenever their stomachs growled, in which case, they took begrudging and noisy turns at emptying the fridge and cupboards.

And it had all been nice and heavenly, until the hour had come to rise and set both their minds on completing the nasty obligation they had found themselves caught up in. So, truthfully, Edinburgh sun and clouds and drizzle and snow had retreated from the sky at precisely six o'clock, since it was winter. And it was almost as if nature herself was drawing back all her minions in order to empty the field and bemusingly welcome the frustrated curses and threatening mumblings of a madness ridden man, who was currently picking his outfit with all the hesitance in the world.

“Bloody, obnoxious imbecile”, he muttered with a barely restrained hatred as he tied his silky black tie, smoothing it down, when the simple knot was ready, with such abrupt force that he nearly stranggled himself.

“Daring to drag me away from my home, my watched day and night home, in order to do what? Accomplish what? Drink bloody cocktails and smile politely like my oaf of a brother”.

Andrea, who was currently attempting to do her makeup, could clearly hear him from the closet and found herself unable to drown her childish giggles. Because of it, she failed at least twice to apply one of her darker shaded lipsticks. She had chosen a blood red colour that accentuated the rosiness in her cheeks and brought out the intensity of her greenish eyes. But it stood impossible for her to line and fill her luscious lips, since the lipstick ended up being painted in her hand or her nose with every fit of laughter he caused.

“He comes into my house, uninvited and talks about invitations. To hell with him and his baboonish head”, he continued vigorously, this time chaning the bass of his voice to imitate Thor's, “'Please Loki, please just consider it, it would put everyone at ease Loki, it would stop Stark's suspicions Loki. Yes Loki, make yourself swallow that one too Loki...' ”.

“Would you stop?”, she shouted at him through breathless laughter from the bathroom, “I'm... I'm trying to do girly things here”.

“If you're masturbating you better invite me right now. They won't mind if we are just a tiny bit late”, he suggested as he squatted down to one knee to tie the laces of his expensive shoes.

“I meant makeup. And don't you dare make us late!”, she reprimanded, a lilt of amusement lingering in her voice. His resistance, even now when there were just a few quarters of hours left before the main event, was laughable.

“Wouldn't dream of it”, he quipped.

Finally, he was silent enough for her to concentrate on the colours, different powders, brow liners and such. Going for a naturally glamorous look, she ditched shadows and heavy mascara, choosing to leave her eyes bare and only gently rubbed them with a thin wet towel to bring out the redishness of her large almond lids. Instead, she focused on giving extra colour to her cheeks, mildly contouring them and blending it all in with a peachy blush. Just a tinge of highlighter here and there, brows bushy, already filled and done. Sighing exasperatedly, she pushed all of the cosmetics into a vanity drawer, vowing to herself that she would sort through the mess once they got back.

Brushing the bush that was her hair sounded like the most terrifying idea in the world, so she ignored the brush by the sink and went straight ahead to dressing.

Just then she heard a loud thump, or was it a clung, followed by the angriest “fuck” she had heard him utter so far.

“Dropped your precious gel all over the floor?”, she inquired loudly, as she stepped into her classic high heels. Black leather pumps with angled tips. Taking a quick look at the mirror she smirked devilishly, knowing that tonight she would definitely reach Loki's height, not that she wasn't somewhat already. But wearing heels beside an already tall and lean man felt quite empowering and she couldn't wait to experience it.

“I'll clean the fucking floor after we fucking get back”, he replied angrily, “If we get back at all from that atrocity of a party”.

Andrea tried to muffle her laughter, swallowing hard, not letting him distract her from her sensual plan for tonight. Eyeing herself in the mirror as she slipped into the long silky black dress, she decided that she would keep him as occupied as possible during this uncomfortable event. That basically meant, using herself as a weapon. For instance, she'd been pondering all day what panties to wear under the certain dress. Difficult choice. The thinnest bit of fabric lines would most definitely be visible. So long story short, she'd go without. On another note, this dress came with its own nipple covers. She would, oh so absent mindedly, forget to put them on. Also, that perfume he adored smelling on her... well, she'd let a second drop drip down her inner thigh.

And lastly, the ultimately desired truth of the night... she would let him kiss her and she would lose herself in it, force her most conservative and fearful instincts to shut up and give into what she knew they both wanted. It was time...

Sighing deeply at the thought of it, she shook her head, recounted all the items she had tucked into the pockets of her office like blaser and clutch and turned around to exit the bathroom. She had thought that this afternoon couldn't possibly get any funnier, but to her utter surprise, it did, because as she entered the living room and walked into the main area, she bumped into Loki, who jumped back in sudden shock as he did not expect to see her, much less feel her as abruptly.

She gasped, her hand going to her chest to steady her quickened heart. And then she indignantly pointed at him with her forefinger, her mouth gaping in realisation.

“You coped my outfit!”, she brazenly stated, eyeing the all black, not to mention familiar, two piece suit.

“No. _You_ coped _my_ outfit”, he retorted, giving her a lascivious, appreciative once over. He licked his lips unintentionally, “But you look ravishing in all that black, so I'll forgive you”.

“ _You_ 'll forgive _me_?”, she repeated disbelievingly, emphasizing her words with semaphore motions of her hands, indicating between herself and him, “ _You_ are the one who put on the suit of sex. _You_ should be the one asking for my forgiveness”.

“Oh, really? Your forgiveness for what fault of mine exactly?”, he argued, furrowing his brows sceptically and crossing his arms over his chest.

Andrea stomped her heel on the floor and whined, “What fault he says... I'll be drooling all night like an animal and I'll be touching it all the time and... agh”, she failed to finish her thoughts and chose instead to reach out and put her greedy hands flat on his shoulder blades at the same time as she angrily pulled him into a hug.

He chuckled with her enthralling, honest and much swift reactions.

“You're really attached to it, aren't you?”.

She half moaned, “Is it Armani?”.

“Gucci actually”.

She moaned again and pulled a bit away to admire the careful tailoring, her eyes gleaming with sheer fascination, “Oh, look at him. Two years on Earth and he knows Gucci already”.

Her joke got him to laugh again, which made her think that perhaps his mood wasn't all that cranky, nor as foul as she'd originally assumed.

Then his warm embrace closed around her and he wrapped her up like a present in a daze of enticing shivers and... memories of a time not so long ago. Memories that at first, were scary to remember, but later, as days went by, as his hands on her back became a constant, those same memories, she had started to recount in excitement and anticipation.

“Can I tell you something?”, she mumbled, sniffing cutely as if in preparation.

“Of course”, he urged and watched her with curious eyes as she leaned her head back to look at him better, clearer.

She swallowed hardcafeand when the first words began to hesitantly leave her blood red lips, it seemed to him like the universe and all its planets, suddenly alligned before their due time, as if they couldn't delay their convergenced orgy any longer, powerless, too lustful to remain at opposite ends of the cosmos.

“That... that night... at the club, I... I liked... no, I loved... the way... the way you touched me”, she stuttered, her natural blush shinning through the one she had already peppered her cheeks with, “The way you held me and... the way you... instructed me to hold you back. It took my breath away and then, I don't know... forced it back into my lungs and... and everything was righted. I know it was a plan to... to get us out of that room, but... at some point... it didn't feel like just... that. I felt...”.

“Felt....”.

“I... I don't know what is it exactly. I was so... vulnerable and it felt... right. I felt right... against you... even if...”.

A bit of moroseness suddenly glazed over her eyes in rememberance of all that took place after their intimate moment, he supposed.

And what she shared now, her thought, her feeling, a part of herself... he couldn't let the horrible shadows of the events of that night to darken it all. He rushed to preserve the underlying sensuality of her confession, to keep that flash of colour on her skin and to maintain the magical heat of her body, crawling upon his skin to settle everywhere that felt best, everywhere that tingled, everywhere that pulsed.

“Can I tell you something too?”, he rasped as he slowly lowered his forehead on hers, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.

She nodded slightly, raising her eyes to meet his and instantly got lost in their blue. Her peripheral view was shutting everything out apart from that comforting, icy blue that made her breath hitch in her throat. He was so close...

When he started speaking the words that ended her, her curious gaze fell down to his moving pinkish lips. And as he tattooed the air with his affection, she realised once and for all that she had, undeniably and unquestionably, been closed off as a woman for any other man in this world. She was his and his only.

“I long to touch you like that again and I yearn to have you reciprocate. To feel you shiver against me, to listen to you breath so shakily you'll burst. Your lovely hands everywhere on me, touching, exploring, taking, learning. My own... discovering every inch of you, naked and wet for me, as you were in that room”, he sighed towards the completion of his own twisted confession.

Deep down, he dreaded that upon realisation she would turn his affections down, even if she had just admitted to loving them.

“It's a memory I cling onto very dearly, little dancer. A memory that sometimes visits as a friend and others as a foe”.

She took her second deep breath for the evening, her voice only mildly steady as she prepared to make a request she woulnd't be able to withdraw, “Then... you wouldn't mind if I... if I asked you...”.

“Asked me what?”, he pressed impatiently, his heartbeat quickening by the second.

“I want to feel it again. What we shared that night. I want... to feel your hands... I want that, I don't have the words for it, that... sinking fear at the pit of my stomach that... you can only bring me and which... which feels so safe... so warm with you. I don't know what it is, it happens to me all the time when... when you're around, but... it's stronger when... when you touch me...”, she admitted abashedly, her staple stammering intended to hide the words she really ought to use but was terribly scared to.

But her handsome man understood. He always magically did.

“And...”, Loki picked up, barely able to keep the unadulterated, perversive joy from showing too brightly both in his voice and body. He trembled with need, his mind was spinning, his heart was jumping here and there unceremoniously like a little overexcited child's. She was offering herself.

At the soft thought of touching that delectable body again, this time without having to force his way, this time only having to hear her whisper yes, his cock jumped to attention and like a magnet was pulled towards its opposite.

For a brief moment there, whilst trapped in her sweet melodic stammering, lush lips swelling with words and reddening even more, he thought she was ironically making a joke. That she was pulling some devious trick to raise his hope, drag him onto the edge and then leave him there hanging. But it wasn't. There was no mistaking the honesty in that gruff, hesitant voice of hers.

“... at which part of this hopefully uneventful night, do you think I would be allowed to touch what is mine?”, he rasped, “At which defining moment, my love, would you prefer that sinking fear in your stomach? That rough safety you crave from my hands on you?”.

Andrea couldn't help but swoon a little inside over the carefully picked, delicately worded questions, questions that carried the undeniable presence of his desire. He'd been denied so long she thought it a miracle he was able to keep it together still.

“Who said you need permission? Or calculation?”, she swallowed thickly, “Loki I... if I... if I get overwhelmed tonight, I'll need it. I'll need it... tomorrow, in a week, in the next hour. If we win tonight, if we lose... I'll need it again. I'll still need you. And I'd like to... to see it unfold naturally”.

To that he grinned and nodded his agreement. His hands travelled up her naked back, causing the tiny golden hairs to shiver and rise.

“Then I shall touch you all the time”, he stated, kissing her forehead sweetly, “Because that's what comes naturally to me”.

“Then don't force it back any more. Just... take”.

“So you consent to my indefatigable attentions?”.

Andrea giggled playfully and withdrew her hands from his back, retracting them as quickly as she could to cover her face and the traitorous flash of pink that wouldn't die down.

“I'll have to try them for endurance first, don't you think? Determine for myself if they are so tireless, as you say”, she teased, slowly pulling away, manoeuvring her way out of his warm embrace.

“Oh, you're a flirt”, he growled and launched forward to drag her back to him, but the little fox cunningly escaped from his grasp.

“Shh. You're stalling. We'll be late to the big event”, she chastised and moved to the side to put on her blaser.

“Oh, yes of course”, he rolled his eyes and offered her his arm, “Shall we adjourn to the festivities?”.

She graced him with her megawatt smile, blood red lips stretching as far as they could go.

Interlacing their black adorned arms, she grabbed her clutch and looked up at him, anticipating the slight nausea of teleportation.

“Let's shine”.

***

 

_Washington DC, 21:00 o'clock..._

 

 

 

The party had started two hours ago, but the most expected couple had not made its appearance yet. Almost everyone on Stark's list had arrived by now, friends, colleagues, members from the political scene plus the Avengers themselves, all drinking, chatting to each other, eating from Tony's lush buffet settings, swaying to the chilled rhythm of the music.

Thor carefully scanned all the faces in the enormous common room, but couldn't spot the two he anticipated to see though seconds later, his eye thankfully fell on Val, who was coming towards him with two bottles of beer in her hands.

“Thought you might need one”, she told him and shoved the bottle in his face.

After he snatched it and took the first gulp, she waved with her fingers towards a couch at the corner, where things seemed to be relatively quieter.

Thor followed her swiftly, drying his mouth on the back of his hand. They slamped down on the expensive looking couch and put their feet up on the little table, not even caring about what the rest of their elite, sensitive company would say.

“I don't think your brother is gonna come”, Val stated, taking a large gulp of her drink.

“Give him more time, baby. You know how he likes grandiose entrances. He's teasing us”, he assured her, draping his muscly arm over her shoulders to pull her closer.

“No, no. The little creep is smart. He probably saw right through Stark's plan and decided not to step foot in here. He might as well be in Australia by now, half way across the world. Wouldn't blame him though. Look at that crowd. Who are all these fuckers anyway?”.

Thor cleared his throat in preparation and tried not to look as nervous as he actually was. He put the beer down on the table and turned towards Val.

“Hm, darling. I have... I have something to tell you. You... you have to know, I guess”.

She turned her head to the side, her eyebrows going up to meet her dark hairline in question. It didn't take her long to realise why he was acting so formal or why he had somewhat lowered his usually rowdy voice.

Her eyes widened in realisation and before he had the chance to open his mouth and explain, she gave him a hard punch on the shoulder and then rapidly on the forehead, a forehead which probably hosted a freakishly large bag of cats instead of a brain.

“You told him! You told him it was a set up!”, she hissed, trying to keep it down as much as she could, “And when exactly were you planning on telling _me_? Huh? Asshole”.

“I'm telling you now”.

“Oh, fuck off”.

“Val, baby, I had to! He's my brother and he's been betrayed as much as he has betrayed. I couldn't do that to him. Go behind his back like that. There's no honour, no loyatly in that”, Thor tried to explain, the words spewing out of his mouth in complete disarray.

“You have to understand, my darling, please. I know it goes against all reason, but I trust him and that's why I told him, so that this strange trust can run both ways. I truly wouldn't have spoken a word if I had no faith in him”.

“Faith? You talk about faith? Thor, he must be at the other end of the galaxy by now, are you bloody kidding me? You told him we've all agreed to drag him into an expirement and you think he's gonna show up all dapper and dandy with a strawberry basket in his hand like bloody Freya on fucking season?”.

“He'll come. Believe me, he will”, he insisted, bright blue eyes sparkling with self – assurance under the twinkling Christmas lights.

“How can you be so sure?”, she argued, her tone edging towards exasperation mixed with regret.

Valkyrie was not certain why this little peculiar feeling of disappointment was tugging at her this much. Didn't know why she wanted this to work. What did she care about, after all? She harboured nothing but indeifference for the Avengers' personal antagonisms and petty excuses for discovering trouble under every stone on the ground. She was here to be the soldier. That was the role she'd picked for herself. Not the consoltunt, not the altruistic politician, not the patriotism figure. Thus, she should have probably stayed out of this in the first place. Beffiting of her part to have done so.

Yet after seeing that footage, after witnessing the little shit so happy with that woman, who everyone expected to meet tonight, she could not stop this urge to jump in and help. She knew the God of Mischief for what? Three days and a month? Probably. But her gut was telling her to push aside the need for quiteness and indifference and assist in securing both his time and reputation with that girl. There was no way to explain this, even to her own self, but she just sensed it was the right thing to do. 

“How Thor? How are you so sure about it?”, she repeated urgently after realising that the words had somehow gotten stuck in his throat.

Thor gave her a shippish look and then a lingering peck on the cheek. He graced her with that smile of his that was known to have the peculiar ability to melt her heart against her very will. And, as expected, the corners of her plush, thick lips twitched up and her chocolate eyes rolled dramatically at the back of her skull. 

“It's that woman of his. Andrea is her name. If he doesn't see reason... she will. And she will make the right call too”.

She scoffed, “Norns help anyone that goes against your brother's stubborness”.

“Oh, no, he'd no nothing to hurt her”, he assured, shaking his head disbelievingly, “On the contrary...”. 

“What d' you mean? She dragging him by the balls?”, Val joked, cocking her brow suggestively.

Thor laughed loudly, “Oh, I'm not ruling anything out, yet what I know for certain is that he'd go to hell and back to please her”.

“Doubt that. Your sister's down there and he's got beef with her. He's too much of an egotistical bastard to commit such selfless acts”.

“Maybe. But not with her. You didn't see them, baby. And even if I tried to explain you'd reasonably question the sincerity of my words”, he confided, winking at her conspirationally, “It's better to see for yourself”.

“Fine”, she sighed, not wishing to continue the conversation.

She dawned her beer and pushed herself to trust Thor's judgement. With all her might and will she hoped that he was right about it all.

And yet, the devil always hides in the details, as Midgardians say, and this particular devil was just now walking hastily towards them with a polite, condescending smile plastered all over his face as he simultaneously shook hands and tapped shoulders with the guests that happened to be in his way.

Thor was already sweating and fidgeting on his seat and by the time the dark haired man reached the couch, his complexion had paled, almost matching Loki's colours.

“Where are they?”, Tony asked straight forwardly, crossing his arms over his chest in sheer annoyance, “And feet off the table. It's mahogany. Pepper will have my head”.

Thor bravely assumed responsibility and answered, “They'll be here any minute now. I'm certain”.

“Are you? Cause they're already two hours late, point break”, he quipped.

“My friend, I assure you, there's nothing to worry about. Loki and his companion will be joining us shortly. You surely know how my brother enjoys teasing”.

“Teasing? Oh, he's roasting us big time. You should know, the others are beginning to question his loyalties too”.

“Bullshit, Stark”, Val dead panned loudly, getting up from the couch to loom over him, “None of the others has said anything of the sort. You're simply trying to cat-fish”.

He shrugged, “Am I? Is there? You know. Anything to be cat-fished?”.

Valkyrie's fists were beginning to curl into tiny forces of pure barbaric mayhem, Thor could testify on that. She was ready to pounce and destroy.

But before she, or him or Stark had the opportunity to say or do anything, his one good eye happened to catch a glimpse of a wickedly green flare and a rich golden shimmer, reflecting on the enormous glass window. It flashed and vanished as quickly as the lightning he often summoned, somewhere underneath the trees of the little forest that surrounded the Compound.

“They're here”, Thor announced, a small triumphant smile tugging at his mouth.

 

***

 

Andrea and Loki entered the noisy common room a couple of minutes later, their arms laced together in a tight, reassuring hold that would hopefully strengthen their resolve and polish their confidence enough to help them make the next step inside.

While her partner was tense and already cruel and distant in the face, like they had smartly rehearsed, Andrea couldn't stop her eyes from venturing everywhere all at once, desperately trying to concentrate on things that made sense and had some sort of use. Noises were attacking her from all directions, mostly inarticulate sounds of hundreds of conversations held all around the heavily decorated room. The perfumes of the ladies and the men's various colognes were making her eyes sting and water, the proximity of the people suddenly too boisterous and confusing.

From what she could understand, the brightly lit room was by far the largest she'd ever been in. If she cast a look around, she would probably confirm that it was even larger than the entirety of the penthouse in Edinburgh. It was quite scary, even as a thought. What did they need all that space for? It was borderline frivolous. An extravagance that rubbed wrong on her simplistic way of living.

People were occupying every crook and crany of the room. Most of them were standing in small circles, group chatting about this and that, or having rather loud and animated conversations as if they knew each other from older times. Waiters and waitresses in black and white suits were coming and going as fast as lightning, passing through the crowd unoticed, like friendly, invisible spirits bound to maintain the cleaningness of the space and never let a single empty glass of champagne go unwashed. To her surprise, she noticed that bodyguards and agents of questionable skillsets were positioned by every door and enormous window, cautiously scanning the room without ever speaking a word to each other, almost as if they were so concentrated on the job that they ignored each other's presenses in fear of distraction. She also did not fail to figure out that the ones placed nearer her and Loki had their eyes fixated on them and one, close to the bar, was muttering something inaudible in a bluetooth speaker of sorts that hang from the collar of his shirt.

A group of people suddenly errupted in shrilling laughter and homey remarks, making Andrea jump on the spot, her arm instictively tightening around Loki's.

Abrupt, heart stopping sounds and large, supposedly magnanimous and definitely frivolous parties, were undoubtedly not her cup of tea and she was sealing it tonight as a realisation, for the better of for the worse.

“Are you alright, my love?”, Loki asked quietly.

In the noise and boisterous mood of the room it sounded like a ghost's whisper inside the shell of her mind.

She looked into his eyes, blinking hard at first, but then concentrating on the infinent blue, whole heartedly hoping to get lost in it and soon. The blinding garlands of lights, arranged in peculiar sets and shapes that loomed above their heads made his eyes glitter and it almost looked as if the different patches of colours in his irises swayed and blended, streaks of blue emulsifying with tiny rivers of green, hit by yellow rays. Like the distorted, moving image of Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'.

“Little dancer?”.

She blinked again, shaking her head to escape the hazy, watery labyrinths of those eyes, “Sorry, I... I got lost in your eyes”.

He chuckled lightly, those orbs that always captivated her and held her hostage, now wrinkling up into tiny lines of age and wisdom. She blushed hard at the thought of that. How could he be this old, look this youthful and laugh like the happiest child, a sound full of magic and promise. Damn, there were no men like him. Nature did not make them like that anymore. She, herself, had probably tore apart all her constructing tools and had shredded to pieces the devilish recipe that had brought him to life, jealous and mirthful of his beauty, a beauty that outmatched hers.

“You should get lost more often in there then”.

“Why?”.

“Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror afterwards?”.

“No”, she furrowed her brows in confusion.

He hummed knowingly, “You should. Because you're glowing like the brightest forest fairy. Your skin is all flushed and glowy and coloured rosy, as if somebody has poured sweet flower extract upon your cheeks. Your eyes are sparkling like springs filled with precious, shiny stones and you smell like birth and life”.

She giggled, abashed by the praise and worship leaking from his voice into his expression, “I think you just complimented yourself. Quite heavily, if I might add. And I bet you have that effect on all women”.

He turned his body fully towards her then, gently disentangling his arm from around hers. With a finger under her chin, he joined their eyes in an explosive tantrum of colours. His face shifted to stern, but not chastising, hard, but not cruel. The gaze was intense to keep, however, it was the only thing that, in a way, kept her anchored to sanity amidst the pandemonium going on around them.

“Maybe I do, but it's not to every woman that I acknowledge my interest this...”, he purred, gliding a playful finger over her bottom lip. It coloured with her lipstick, a blood red, cherry like shade that he licked langoriously off his skin. It even tasted like cherry.

“This... what?”, she purred back, her eyes stuck on that freshly licked finger, her head slightly lolling back as if she was caught in some kind of ecstatic daze. If she had to be honest, it didn't fall far from the truth.

That distancing feeling of detachment from the pompous surroundings captured her. That sweet trip to the faraway land where all that existed was him, his dark, crystalic eyes and the moisturized reddish finger, popping in and out... in and out... of his mouth... so invitingly...

“You're the first woman I talk to like that, Andrea and evidently the last”.

 _Evidently the last_ , she repeated longingly...

“It's the strangest thing for me to admit, but... I can never refrain from pouring my soul out to you, darling. Ludicrous, really, how for so long I was weary of anyone taking a peak at what's stored inside, afraid even. And yet, I find myself not to impervious to your charms, your heart, those cheeks, your eyes. I can't help myself. I starkly yearn to give you everything, all I am, all you can help me be. I want to lay my mind and body in your hands and let you do with them as you please with no care of the consequences. Little one, when I compliment you, I mean it. It's not a trick so that you feel for me, it's not a ruse to bed you, it's an honest act of...”, he hesitated, but let the words out, his eyes never leaving hers, “... of a man who's been afraid of the truth all his life”.

Each separate sentence, each syllable of pure adoration took her breath away.

A sharp shard of guilt almost reached her heart, tugging at her insides and trying with all its might to make her feel awful for having even suggested the reactions of third parties, of other women reacting to him. There were no other women. Even if it was only light joking, a good natured retort, she felt the urge to take it back and apologise in kisses and steamy embraces, for she was the only woman that occupied his mind.

“I don't... I don't know what to say...”, she stammered instead, randomly casting her eyes down to the evident bulge in his fancy black pants. Immediately she grew hotter on the cheeks and decided against opening her mouth again.

“You don't have to say anything, my love. Just accept the compliments. Allow yourself to bask in them. For me. You know me to be rude and sharp tongued. Yet this same tongue wouldn't drip honey on you for nothing. It's cautious with its words”, he suggested, brushing her hair backwards, raking his whole hand through the tangled curls in a possessive, caring manner.

She closed her eyes and nodded, half moaning in contentment at the feel of such a strong, yet sweet and careful touch. She savoured all of it, her heart crying a bit when he had to stop.

“You didn't answer me before. Are you alright?”, he reminded whilst lacing his arm around her waist, his open palm caressing her satin skin. The sensation hit him in all the right places, briefly making him wonder if he had tactile issues as well.

She cleared her throat, “Fine. Fine. Just... I... it's difficult to focus in here”.

She cast a quick, worried look around the fully packed room and bit the inside of her red lip. Why did those champagne glasses in people's hands look so tall, like football world cups? Ominously heavy and unreasonably large? Thankfully, the company holding them wasn't close by.

She was starting to get dizzy again from all the noise and the more she struggled to force herself into relaxation the more nauseous she got. Differentiating the loud voices and the quiet murmurs, the clinking of glasses and cacophonous music was proving improssible. And then as if a switch had been flicked, it was all magically muted to a low, distant buzzing that felt like the numb remnants of some long forgotten memory.

Loki knew her panacea, the cure for all her problems, disabilities, small or large nuisances, struggles and worries and he was expertly using the knowledge to limit her disorientation. His hand, previously resting on the exposed small of her back, had now, innocently, snuck underneath her lovely black dress to cling at her side, anchoring itself by devious fingers, which gently massaged the light evidence of rib bones, under the slope of her breast and thorax. Almost as if he played piano, he pressed the right keys on her body and she dissolved into a melting melody of tempered want and barely satisfying calmness. He was soothing and setting her on fire at the very same time. And she loved it.

“Oh... aw... OH”, she moaned in shame, casting nervous looks around the room to make sure nobody had heard her, cursing and blessing him for doing this to her in such a public setting.

She couldn't deny though that the instant his fingers, long and firm, slid inside her dress, conquering the frontal lands of her needy body like hungry marauders, all her tension disappeared and the confusion of the noise faded away into nothingness. He had written right a part of some old and forgotten history that appeared to have been recorded from a false point of view. A significant mistake in the making of her brain that he expertly manipulated by keeping feeding it with the over indulgence of his simple, loving touch.

“Hmm, would you like to move over to the bar?”, he purred in her ear, utterly ignoring her dissolvement into paddles and paddles of moans and curses under his wicked ministrations.

“Mm, yes please. But... Loki, don't...”, a sigh interrupted her train of thought. His caress dared to go further up, his thumb now going over the underswell of her breast.

She should have flinched. Should have snatched his hand away. She wasn't ready for that kind of contact. And yet she relished in it. Begged him with her mind to do it again.

“Don't what, my love?”, he teased, rubbing a bit harder. In reflex, her own arm snaked around his waist and she roughly pulled him towards her, their sides clashing against each other with a tiny thumping pain that settled quickly.

She leaned her heavy head on his shoulder.

“Don't stop”.

“I promised you, didn't I?”, he challenged, palming her whole rib, his traitorous thumb skimming again over the underside of her breast. Her nipple swelled and tightened on its own. If she could curl her toes inside her leather pumps, she would have.

“Loki?”, she started as they pushed smoothly through the crowd, “You say I look like a forest fairy, but apart from your descriptions I don't know what that creature looks like. Is it really so pretty or are you making it up?”.

His eyes shone bright at her question, as if they held the pieces of a treasured memory that emerged from the bottom of his overfilled mind. The devious finger massaged the _side_ of her breast this time. She sucked in her breath, wanting, anticipating, needing to feel more of his touch. That sweet, seemingly innocent caress, so close to areas that ached already from her pending period. Those buds of hers hurt in pounding silence and even the grazing of her dress against them felt too much. But she grit her teeth and held on, trying not to think about how she'd feel if he flicked them with his hot tongue. Would it soothe her? Or would it make her ache more? _Oh... God..._

“I could conjure one with my magic, if you wish. That way you'll catch my meaning and see for yourself the beauty I compare you to”, he suggested, his eyes unintentionally falling to her red lips, which lured him in, tempting him, bending him to their will. 

“Will she be an illusion?”.

“Why, yes. The real creatures live in Alfheim”.

“Aww”.

“Why? Do you want a real one? I can get you a real one if you like”.

She giggled happily at how he rushed to reassure, how he rushed to spoil her.

“No, no, no, it's okay. I just want to see one. Besides, aren't they supposed to live in bright green forests with lots of life and flowers and little animals and waterfalls and pools?”.

“That's where they usually reside, yes”.

“Then they would die if they came to a city. If they were locked in an apartment without pretty plants and fresh waters. Wouldn't they?”.

“No, darling, they wouldn't. That's just a myth”, he informed.

“What? Really?”.

“Fairies live where there's an overabundance of love. They are selfless, affectionate and kind creatures, so they love each other with great passion and that is why they survive for eternity, not because they live in a vivid forest. For all I know, you could put them in a box and they would still live a long life”.

At that she smiled brightly, “That's so beautiful”, and pressed her fingers into his waist, “Show me one when we get home?”.

“Absolutely, my love”, he agreed, gracing her with an equally bright smile before placing a chaste smooching kiss on her temple.

Halfway to the luxurious bar and the promise of burning whisky, after having snaked through the joyous crowd that wasn't really keen on moving aside so that they could pass easier, Loki halted, stopping Andrea as well.

Whipping his head to the side, struggling to find some sort of dizzy focus, he saw everything tinging into a deep, bright red, the corners and bolder colours of the room, blackening onimously. A cursed laughter echoed in the ballroom of his mind. His vision improved and became normal only seconds later, but the laughter... the playful chuckles went on, unruly, childlike, mocking, like the deliverance of the most dreaded message from the mouth of a little girl, forced to play the messenger. A vain and unimportant contradiction. He barely listened to Andrea's question, felt her worry like a feather breeze caressing his arm. All he could clearly hear was the little witch, teasing and playing around his less than patient mind.

 _Look at you. Back from the city of the dead_...

She chirped excitedly.

_I see you have your defences lowered. It was so easy to get in there... or I'm just that good..._

Her voice was loud enough to falsely indicate her presence behind him.

“I don't think you remember what I told you would happen if you entered my mind again”, he warned her off, his tone low and dead serious, but not threatening.

Andrea shivered beside him, not truly understanding his meaning. She furrowed her brows and was about to ask why he'd say that, when a short girl with fiery brownish hair appeared behind his left arm, deviously smiling up at him as if she was responsible for a naughty action. Perhaps the naughty action Loki was talking about.

“My pretty head under your boot, wasn't it?”, she mocked in a heavy accented voice.

For a brief moment there, it seemed to Andrea as if the young woman had sprung out of his body. As if she had tore herself into invisible atoms which absorbed themselves into his skin, into his essence, and then, just as easily, had jumped back out of him.

His chuckle drew her away from such thoughts. His azzure eyes fixed on her, going soft in an instant, and then shifting to the redhead who was coming over to greet them properly.

“Wanda...”, Loki introduced, not bothering to hide his mock idleness as he spoke her name, “... this is Andrea. Andrea, I present to you the bloody little witch, youngest Avenger so far, they reqruit them younger and younger as time passes, and a pain in my ass once upon a time”.

“Oh, cut the crap, you old man. You know you love my company”, Wanda retorted, darting her tongue out at him.

He rolled his eyes, but was unable to force the little half smile away from his lips.

Andrea found the quiet opportunity to shake hands, but before she so much as extended her hand, the girl lurched forward and hugged her tightly. Andrea laughed out, more than happy with the welcome gesture and amused with the significant height difference she had with the girl, a trait she as well did not fail to notice.

“Wow, you're tall. Almost as tall as him”, she commented, releasing Andrea from the uneven embrace.

“Yeah...”.

“Any chance you are a giant? Like him?”, she asked then, nodding towards an irritated Loki, who was already tapping his foot on the floor.

“Ahm, no, I'm human. Totally human”.

“No powers?”.

“None”.

“Good. That's the best way to live, if you ask me”, the redhead expressed, her face falling for just a second, before she cheered up again, “Well, come on, tell me! Who convinced who to come?”.

And so the three of them chatted on for a while, talked about everything and nothing in particular. Small talk, at which Andrea was terrible, but kept up well enough, not wishing to disappoint the little witch, who seemed eager to find out everything she could about them.

As they conversed, the atmosphere was truly amiable and Andrea gladly observed that Loki was being his best self with the girl, feeling comfotable enough to share experiences from life in Scotland, certain of course that most of what he described had already been shown on footage. But he did it anyway, maybe to truly indulge her curiosity or create a good image for himself. Whichever the case, Andrea was simply content to listen to him speak in that bass, eloquent voice, as he reminisced times he got drunk, times he got into petty trouble and most of all, how perfectly well he knew he was being watched the whole time.

Andrea didn't get much of a chance to talk, but that was how she liked it and even when asked, she was being extremely cautious with her answers, undoubtedly affected by Loki's warnings of the team being manipulative and quick to judge. Despite her suspicion though and mildly standoffish behaviour, she couldn't help but smile and laugh with the girl's enthusiasm to tackle almost every aspect of her's and Loki's life together, openly admitting how strange she found it that a beautiful, elegant woman such as her got stuck with a hostile, surly brute like him. Her humour was spot on and well received by both and after this short while of listening carefully and talking, Andrea could not be convinced that the girl might have been carrying out an interrogation of sorts all along.

“So what do you do Andrea? I don't suppose you join him in drinking marathons and misery contests?”, she chirped, rolling her eyes at Loki.

“I'm a university student. I study English Literature”.

“Really? Like Shakespeare and Byron and Shelley?”.

“Yeah, exactly. And many more”.

“Cool”, she awed, “Must be truly interesting. Difficult?”.

“I'm managing so far”.

Loki smiled at her short answers, almost amused by how awekward she was with the small talk. He tightened his arm around her, supporting her with the pressure of his hand on her side.

“She is being modest about it all, as per usual”, he corrected, kissing her temple with endearing affection, “I'll have you know that she is from the top students in her classes”.

“Oh no, don't tell her that. I'm gonna blush again”, she quietly chided, snuggling up against him, seeking that magnificently warm protection of his body, “But he is kind of right. I am, to my great surprise”.

Wanda chuckled at that, her dark blue eyes darting excitedly between them, her smilling lips caught between small white teeth. She looked as if she was holding back from saying something important, something that she knew was in order, but simply couldn't bring herself to speak out loud.

Then her eyes shifted to somebody behind the couple, who was coming towards them in slow, calculated steps, moving through the crowd with the fluidity of a dancer. Wanda's irises burned bright as she kept her gaze fixed on the stranger and she was already smilling welcomingly, waving him over, her heavily adorned with rings fingers clinking together, calling the man with their little song.

“Come on, Vis, come join us”, she called to the man and everyone's attention shifted to the tall figure just entering their personal space.

The first, most distinct characteristic Andrea picked up about him was the bright yellow gem that penetrated the thick skin of his forehead. For some reason, the fact that this same skin was red, literally red, didn't even register to her as at least a bit weird. To her eyes, he was actually quite handsome.

“I apologise. You're talking. I do not wish to disturb”, he phrased eloquently, putting his hand on his stomach and slightly bowing to the couple and then Wanda. 

“Nonesense. Come on”, Wanda dismissed and gently pulled him closer to her by the forearm.

“Alright. If you insist”, he politely agreed, giving away a little shy smile that tugged at Andrea's heart.

It was a strangely familiar feeling, since it overtook her at times when Loki was being particularly sweet about something or shied away from her comments and praises about him. He smiled the same in those occasions, all flustered and embarassed, even though it did not show on his cheeks. Vis, as Wanda had introduced him, was giving her the exact same vibe. A vibe that urged her on to include him in everything, make him feel as welcome as possible, despite her own conservative nature.

“Hi. I'm Andrea”.

She made an introduction. Actually pushed herself to do it.

With the broadest smile on her face, she extended her hand politely and expected him to shake it. But Vision didn't just shake it.

The gesture appeared to have made him lighter inside as well, the little smile playing on his lips, now evolving into a much wider and brighter one. With grace and care, he leaned forward and took it gently, turning it around to place a feather light kiss upon her knuckles. It wasn't like Loki's worshipping kisses, of course. It was the mere brush of lips of a gentleman with manners and an educated outlook on life. Regardless, it made her feel special and welcome, just as Wanda's hug had at the beginning.

“Pleased to make your aquaintance, miss Andrea. I'm glad you and Loki were able to join us tonight”.

“Thank you, stone keeper”, Loki said then and shook hands with the man, “Has it made your life a living hell yet or do you still keep it together?”.

Andrea's lips parted in confusion as she had no idea what they were reffering to.

“The mind stone is... quite the unpredictable trouble maker, but it poses no threat. This small obstacle does not take away from the fact that the gem is showing me whole new universes of possibilities. It's an opportunity to help the world and I try to think it only as such”, Vision elaborated, his tone serious and very well put together.

Loki nodded and cast his eyes down to the floor. He stayed silent for a moment, thinking something through, while his hand kept drawing circles upon Andrea's skin.

“Be careful with the knowledge it reveals, Vision”.

“Thank you for the warning. I most definitely will. You once yielded two. Am I correct?”.

Loki nodded again, but did not look too happy about confirming the fact, “I did. And the consequences were far greater than I had anticipated. It's a heavy burden that you carry”.

“Sometimes it is. However, everything seems to be fine so far”.

Andrea was informed a little later about the discussed topic from both men and occasionally Wanda, who mostly made funny comments about it.

“The mind stone is one of the five infinity stones that fell into the team's possession a couple of years back. It was extricated by Mr. Stark's technology from Loki's Chitauri sceptre and was used... well, frankly to create me. The stone is part of my genetic code”.

“And you were once... in control of it?”, Andrea inquired, shifting her gaze to meet Loki's eyes.

His eyes though remained fixed on the floor, his gaze fixed on some random spot. It was almost as if his past was painted upon the wood he stepped on and he was helpless to do anything else, but look at it.

“In a sense”, was all he said.

She knew something was devastatingly wrong with that affirmation, but she couldn't ask now.

“I think it's kitch”, Wanda shrugged off, turning everyone's attention towards her, “What? Why are you all staring at me? Just look at the thing. It's yellow and he is red. The contrast is crap”.

Everyone chuckled at her comment for it was very well needed, since the atmosphere had begun to chill. A chill that was probably emanating from Loki beside her.

“And which was the other you yielded, handsome?”, she pushed a bit further.

“The space stone”.

“Does that one have a better colour?”.

Loki shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “It's light blue. Aquamarine blue”.

Andrea hummed and patted the small of his back, massaging it with her palm to make him feel a little better. He was uncomfortable as hell, she sensed it.

“What are the others for?”.

This time it was Vision who answered, “According to Thor, the other three are the power stone, reality stone and time stone. Purple, red and green”.

“That's a rainbow right there”, Andrea cajoled.

Wanda nodded urgently, pointing at her with her finger, “I know right? Something of such significant power and yet such ridiculous colour pattern”.

“Do you know where they are?”.

“Obviously, one is in my head. The time stone is kept safe by Dr. Strange in New York. The reality stone is kept in a vault on planet Knowhere. The power stone is guarded by Nova Corp on planet Xandar and the space stone...”, Vision paused for a moment, his blue intelligent eyes darting to Loki, “... the space stone was lost during Asgard's fall”.

Loki's hand tightened at her side and he immediately cleared his throat, introducing some new subject to be discussed.

 _Too soon_ , she thought in worry, _I'm sorry, handsome_...

He didn't meet her eyes. He kept them instead on Wanda and Vision who had already started talking again. He told her not to worry about it with a firm kiss on her temple, which instantly made her feel lighter.

And so she listened with tethered interest about alien visits, attacks on foreign planets, enemies and beings of unbelievable power, unforgivable crimes and failed robotic experiments, things that a decade ago a simple human mind would have called nonesense and science fiction. She though, lived in a generation where stories like these were fleshed out of the pages almost every day. And now, she was also part of a select group of people who knew about defenders, protectors of the Earth who dealt with situations like these almost as soon as they made their appearance. Two of them were standing right in front of her, talking to her about their life experiences, missions they've been on, evil guys they brought down.

She was taking it all in, absorbing it like an eager sponge. For the first time in her life, she felt trusted with heavy secrets and whose significance to remain secrets was immense and expected of her. She even felt comfrotable enough to ask further questions about them.

And when the time came for the two couples to part ways, Andrea actually felt a little bit sad and hoped to see them again at some point soon before she and Loki departed.

Loki wished them fairwell too, excusing himself and the little dancer quickly, eager to get to the bar and drink something to make sure that the night would move along as smoothly as possible. The fact that Wanda and Vision had decided to play good, didn't mean that the rest of the posse was bound to behave likewise. He needed to be prepared for whichever occasion.

They had just begun to walk away, arms on each other's waists, guiding and pushing carefully through an unmovable crowd, when he heard Wanda's warning, whispered in his head like the voice of a ghostly entity.

_I know you have read right through Stark's ruse, Loki. But be careful tonight. You are not a fool, I know, but nonetheless, be cautious._

This couldn't be anything good.

_Stark has found out everything about her. Things you might know and things you might not. I have no idea what he plans to do with the information, but it can't be any good. He knows all, from her current relationship with you to her past and what happened with her father to her student bank account number. Small things and... much sorrowful things. So please take care. I'm on your side. Always have been..._

They reached the bar shortly after and sat on the stools facing each other.

“The usual?”, she asked him and upon his positive nod, she told the bartender to bring them two whiskys neat from Mr Stark's top shelf. The bartender obliged immediately. But how could he not, when she smiled so genuinely and sweetly at him?

Loki decided on the spot not to tell her anything about the warning. He couldn't possibly. Not when his love looked so happy and poised and confident, thrilled to be included in something bigger than herself. It would be a shame to ruin her mood with unpleasant news, news that on their own had no impact or meaning to him, but could mean the worst for her, her, who had all the answers that filled the little voids and blanks of the tragic story.

A part of him wanted to ask her right away and even force her to complete this tortuous puzzle so that if Stark used the information ill mannerdly, it wouldn't affect them, wouldn't possibly tear them assunder, because this heavy burden of her past would have already been shared between them. But would she find it in her heart to forgive him afterwards for having pushed her this much? Would she be brave enough to face him and let go?

The assumptions and suppositions were far too many and trying to move things forward in advance harboured a risk he wasn't willing to take. Instead, he chided himself for falling down the dark path of misery and negativity and willed himself to lean against the bar and enjoy a good drink with her. Her, who tonight put all the comets and moon kissed stars to utter shame with her beauty.

They clinked their short glasses and drew the first quick gulp, relishing in the burning sensation purging the column of their throats. The smoky undertones of the drink were pungent enough to blur the eyes and cause tiny teardrops, but the couple didn't even blink twice and proceeded smoothly in taking a much larger gulp. Andrea set the glass down first, shuddering all over, her skin errupting in gooseflesh from the sudden boiling blood rush. The Scots weren't joking when they said that whisky warms the heart. It bloody torched hers.

“Tastes better than Daniels”, Loki observed and he tilted the glass right and left to watch the liquid reflect under the bright Christmas lights.

“Daniels mostly produces blended whiskys, not singles. The taste is different. More common when it's mixed with others and purer when it's not. This one that you're drinking is a triple mault, smoky whisky from Glenkichie, up in Scotland. It has spent al lot of time in the barrel and that's why it's so rich. I'm surprised Stark has it, to be honest. Not many know this variety”, she supplied eloquently, her voice a bit hoarser, her breath whafting of the delicious scots she just had. And those red lips... smiling at him...

“Someone knows her whisky”.

“One of my many hidden interests”, she bragged, tilting her chin up in superiority.

“Tastes expensive too. Are you taking advantage of Mr. Stark good and generous hospitality, minx?”.

“You bet I am. He dragged me out of my bed on a perfect, snowy, cosy, Christmas day and made me dress up for his shallow party. The least he can grant me is his top shelf at the bar”.

He laughed whole heartedly at that, almost throwing his head back from the force that overtook him.

“Why, my lady, did you...”, a belated chuckle interrupted him, “... did you have other plans for tonight?”.

“Of course I had, my handsome sir”.

“And what were they, if I may ask?”.

Her face flashed rosier, the forest green of her eyes darkening for mere moments as they landed on his thin, parted lips. If he wasn't so caught up in the ecstasy that was her, he would have probably noticed how her breath had become laboured and how she fisted her hands in her dress, gathering the fabric tightly between her fingers,

“Maybe I'll tell you later”, she announced, leaving him hanging on the verge once again, ending the flirtatious mood, as if she was too afraid to proceed.

“Tell me about Wanda and Vision”, she changed the subject.

“What do you want to know about them?”.

“Why is she called Scarlet Witch? I mean, why witch? It sounds so medieval. Like, her powers focus around telekinisis. That doesn't make her a witch. Sha has an anomaly in her genetic code”.

“Yes, you're quite right. Truthfully, I don't know. Simply a nickname, my best guess. Something people labelled her with. Nothing to do with her origins, powers or code. Thor calls me a witch sometimes. Out of habit and... poor education I presume. Pitty. Frigga worked so hard to put a thing or two in his head”.

She chuckled lightly, “Yeah, but really, you can pass as a witch. I mean, the hair, the pale skin, all black outfits and greasy. All you need to complete the style is a broomstick and a nasty mole above your lip and you're good to go”.

He squinted his eyes disdainfully, trying not to laugh again and betray his actual mood, “I'll be benevolent tonight and pretend you didn't just say that”.

She burst out in giggles and putting a hand over her heart, she begged, “Oh, yes, please my King. Show mercy”.

“You deserve no mercy for the nasty mole comment, but I shall forgive you this once”, he bargained and leaned forward to twist a stranded curl close to her cheek.

He let his fingertip glide down the slope of a plump cheek, savouring the image of her shutting her eyes and shivering pleasantly from the treatment and attention.

“Are they together? Vision and Wanda?”.

“When I left they were quite close. I suppose over the course of those two years, they've made it official”, he replied, “Why do you ask?”.

“No reason. Just trying to learn more about the team. I like those two. They don't look... manipulative. Except if kindness is their way of manipulation. Maybe they are trying to earn our trust-”.

“No, no. You needn't worry about them. They can be tursted. I read through them. We are safe. There is no plan, no guile. Which unfortunately cannot be said abbout certain others as well”.

She nodded, a little more at ease now that she had his input.

“You know, I'm glad that they were the first two to approach us tonight”.

“Yeah, me too”.

But then her face fell as an idea popped into her mind. An idea she didn't feel at all comfortable sharing with the handsome, sharply dressed man opposite her, but definitely had to, if she wished to be successful tonight and convince the team of their bond. Her skin prickled even at the thought of asking , but she knew it was essential she be brave about it. Besides, she needed to also calm down her own pending insecurities about where this between them was going. She had to clear things up one more time.

“Loki...”, she took a deep breath, trying to hide her anxiety, “... what do we... what do we say if... if we are asked the same question?”.

He smirked devilishly and she immediately looked down to her lap, “I mean... if they ask... what we are...”.

“What do _you_ want to tell them?”, he divulged, looking at her above the rim of his glass, eyes glittering like the sea under the hot sun.

As the liquid trembled at the bottom of the expensive glass and the light from the room hit it and reflected its tiny waves on his eyes, Andrea felt her thighs quiver and her heart pound.

“No. What do _you_ want to tell them?”.

“I asked you first”.

“I asked you second”.

“Fine, then I'll tell them I'm fucking you balls deep every night”.

“Loki”, she shrieked, her voice coated with embarassed laughter.

Her knuckles were already doing a quick job of cooling her overheated cheeks, thinking how strange it was that she had confided in him about things far more intimate, but for some reason, couldn't spit out the answer she craved to give to his simple question.

She fumbled a bit with the fabric of her dress, searching in both light and dark recesses of her mind for the right words. Words that wouldn't sound cheasy. That would be honest and romantic. That would communicate the love she nurtured and grew in her heart.

“What do you want to tell them, love?”, he repeated.

“I want-”.

“Brother!”, Thor's booming voice interrupted.

In all honesty, she felt kind of grateful for it for the interruption would assist her in biding her time, getting the chance to think about this thorougher, filter her emotions better. And yet, why was she treating this like a medical procedure that required time and calculation? Why couldn't she just be more carefree?

“Thor...”, Loki acknowledged, not too thrilled with his brother's presense, “Val...”, he nodded towards the woman who accompanied him, a stunning woman at that.

She tipped her head at him, supposedly returning the warm welcome, but apart from that, there were no other niceties from her part.

“You look like shit”.

“Sweet Valkyrie, your compliments always brighten up my gloomy days. Thank you”, Loki mocked sardonically from his position on the stool.

“Thank you for coming, brother”, Thor spoke then, patting and squeezing hard Loki's shoulder, hard enough to almost throw him off his seat.

“Her idea”, he retorded humousously and pointed his finger at Andrea.

In a sudden need to preserve the positive vibe going around, she darted her tongue out to him and rolled her eyes, “Oh, shut up. You're having fun and you know it. You just won't admit it”.

“You too, Brutus?”, he quoted, pouting a little, but Andrea knew he was faking it.

“You must be the mystery girl Thor's been raving about”, Valkyrie betrayed, delighted by the bashfulness Thor's expression gained. Loki, on the other hand, fixed his eyes on his brother menacingly, shooting him in his imagination with invisible bullets, “So how d'you get him here? Tied him on the bed and made him beg? Beat the shit out of him?”.

“What elegance...”, the God of Mischief joked.

“Beat the shit out of that beautiful, miserable face? No. I talked him into it”, she informed, casting a sideways look at him, which he gladly returned.

“Used his weapon of choice against him, huh? Smart”, she commented, giving Andrea what could definitely be described as an appreicative once over. The beautiful woman extended her hand, “I'm Valkyrie. Call me Val”.

“Nice to meet you”, Andrea said and caught her hand in a strong shake, “Andrea”.

Valkyrie's eyes squinted then on the tiny streaks of veins that popped out of the other woman's forearms. She twisted her hand to the side to take a closer look.

“Killer grip. Firm and poised. You working out?”.

Loki sensed the little dancer's sudden unease at the same time as she smiled politely and blinked away distractedly.

“From time to time. Nothing constant. Did self defense whilst in high school”, she answered, her voice controlled and steady.

Val abandoned the hand and moved upwards to grip at her forearm. Andrea gripped hers back with the same, or at least, equal strength, in a comandeering manner.

Loki saw the muscles on her entire arm tense and swell, as if in defense, alert on their own accord about some invisible threat. Could it be her muscle memory triggered into activation? He wondered, now a bit worried and on edge too.

The two women stared at each other intensely for what seemed like ages, making even the two men, who were eyeing them suspiciouly, wonder if there was something wrong. If there was a clue of hostility they were missing out on.

And then, as if the two of them were sharing some kind of inside joke, they smiled full teeth smiles at each other, probably acknowledging something that the men couldn't possibly wrap their minds around. To Loki, it seemed like two alpha females understanding and respecting one another's territory and might. Once they declared they were equals and entitled to their strength, they made peace in the form of companiable laughter.

Valkyrie winked at Loki suggestively, “I like her”.

“Oh, good to know. I would have died without your input and permission”.

“I'm sure you would have”, she agreed, ignoring the petulant look he was giving her.

Leaving at last Andrea's arm, she ordered another round of whiskys, the same as the couple were drinking earlier.

“Dickhead's top shelf, if you please”, she shouted at the bartender, tapping her hand on the bar.

They dawned their drinks, shuddering all over from the strong impact of the bold taste. Valkyrie actually went for a second one and Andrea swore she had never seen a woman before gulp down scots so damn fast. Thor, who was standing close by to Loki, was bloody wincing from the alcohol degree concentrated in just one swallow of the expensive liquid. But, Val, no. She was the real deal.

“Careful, Val. Keep it up and you'll end up sorely drunk”, Loki mocked, his eyes sparkling again like before, “Store that bludderer of yours with just a bit more and not even my brother will be able to carry you to bed”.

Everyone errupted in laughter at that.

“Oh, yeah? You be careful, greasy, cause Stark is coming in hot on your ass tonight”, she chirped in retort and nodded somewhere behind him in suggestion, her lips stretched into a sneering smile.

Thor looked nervously over his shoulder and once he spotted Stark approaching, he set his drink down and leaned closer to Loki.

“Please, behave”.

“Aren't you staying for the show?”.

“Can't. We've had enough of him for now. We gotta take a break”, Val quipped, grabbing Thor by the arm.

“Andrea, make him behave”, Thor pleaded, giving her puppy eyes.

“Stark or Loki?”, she frowned.

“If it is within your power... both”.

She smiled encouragingly at him and nodded.

The couple got lost somewhere in the crowd and all Andrea was left with was a smirking Loki who rubbed his hands in preparation and a sharply dressed billionaire in the apparent mood for disturbance and trouble.

Literally the first thing that came out of that man's mouth was a snarky insult, which marked the beginning of a long duel of wits and remarks whose sequence Andrea could barely keep up with, much less understand. She didn't even get the chance to poperly introduce herself before God and billionaire were at it again, participating in a sick contest of who was going to come up with the smartest thing to say.

“Look who decided to show up after all. Well, I'll be damned, isn't it the dark lord himself and his little pet?”, Stark remarked, paying no attention to the slightly offended Andrea who had already begun glaring him down.

But she didn't even bother to interject, too tired of the man's on full display negativity and displeasure.

“I was informed you missed my presense in your pathetic... Compound, thus I thought a generous act of kindness and acceptance was in order. One good deed at the time. Isn't that what your good God says?”, Loki threw back, pure amused malice dripping from his tongue.

 _God... stop talking like a growling animal...,_ she thought, a sudden rush of heat working its way down her spine and settling right where she most definitely did not want it to settle. At least not now.

She fidgeted in her seat, wiggling her bum at the edge of the stool to avoid soaking her dress through with her rapidly forming wetness. This must have been the punishment for playing naughty and going without undies, she knew.

“Oh, don't you worry about it, reindeer games. Nobody missed ya. Oh, wait no. I can't call you _reindeer games_ anymore. Where's the horny helmet, princeling? Forgot to polish it on your way out? Or where you too preoccupied to bend over and pick it up?”.

“I will have you know that my helmet and battle armour are in impeccable, impregnable condition and ready to be worn in glorious battles and actual festivities, not in... pitty parties and travesties”.

“You're calling my party a travesty? Then why grace me with your presense then, oh, God, almighty?”.

“Well you so lovingly sent my brother to deliver the invitation on your behalf, made him do your bidding while you obviously tended to matters of graver importance. How could I possibly refuse such a personal, not to mention honourable, invite?”.

“To my travesty”.

“Yes, Stark, to your travesty. Hasn't your frivolous nature began to waver with old age or do you still got some spite in you?”.

“Leave my frivolous nature out of it and focus on not biting your tongue and dying from your own poisonous narcisicm”.

“Look who dares speak of narcisicm”.

Half, if not all, from the things the two men threw at each other's faces in their desperate deadpan match, Andrea struggled to comprehend or down right ignored, too bored to force her brain into keeping track. 

Stark truly didn't know how and when to still his tongue and honour boundaries and Loki had no idea or inkling to put an end to it all and show indifference. From whichever point she viewed it, these two were a dead end on their own.

Even the bartender had distanced himself from the ongoing onslaught and was nervously wiping some glasses clean, casting her now and then symphathetic glances which she returned in nods and condescending smiles.

But her passive behaviour was soon brought to an end by Stark's next remark, hurtfully phrased and voiced just with the right dose of disdain and disrespect to make it sting badly.

“Oh, shit. I forgot. There was a dinner, before the party, but your invitation must have fallen somewhere. Must've been misplaced. Anyway, it was a close circle of friends. The Avengers, mostly. People that can be trusted. That's what Christmas's all about, right? Staying with family and friends, helping out people in need. Good folk... Fugitives and immigrants too, just... not of your variety”.

Andrea saw Loki's fists bunch up into brutal balls of nerves, tense fingers clenching and unclenching with absolute precision, but difficulty too. His mouth was closed tightly, seemingly calm, but by the intensity she observed around his jawline, she could clearly make out how he gritted his teeth. 

With her dancer's elegance, she slid off the stool and got between the two men, before Loki lost his patience and pounced. Her protective hand found its way behind her and gently pushed him backwards, wishing to conceal him from Stark's hatred and shield him from perhaps another verbal attack. His purely ferocious and tense posture was difficult to push back, but to her great surprise, he slowly bent his will to hers and took a step back, helping her to remove him from trouble.

“Yes, indeed, Christmas is all about that Mr. Stark. We almost changed our minds about coming tonight. You know, just like you said, it's about staying home with people that can be trusted. Friends, family, folk that don't talk out of their ass. Just...”, she stared him down. Her cold, uncaring expression was enough to clarify her feelings for him, “... not of your variety”.

Both Andrea and Loki stood still, staring at the short, smug man threateningly, trying to warn him off, but he just smiled knowingly and alternated his gaze between the two, as if in realisation of something.

“I see that when cat's got your tongue your watchdog steps in. Sharp tongued little thing too”, he supplied, looking at Andrea somewhat wide eyed.

“And I assume you're the cat, Mr Stark? That's a shame. I expected better vocabulary, but then again, it doesn't have to do with the things you say, but rather with how much you seem to adore the sound of your own voice. Once again, pity. I expected you would be more poised for the name you're supposed to bear”.

After a minute of silence and considerable sizing up, he smiled widely and nodded, affirmating something.

“I like you”, he declared, shaking his finger up and down.

Andrea smirked at him, “The sentiment is not mutual”.

Stark did not reply to that, only tilted his head to the side, instantly taking offense.

“Now, if you'll excuse us”, she terminated, putting an end to the banter and her own rapidly rising anxiety.

Wrapping her arm around Loki's waist, she pulled him towards her and went away, into the crowd, not casting a second glance at the snarky scientist, making it a point that she hated his guts. They strode off without another word. Not that any other words were required. She had deadpanned him for good and was certain that he wouldn't be coming back for more soon.

As they shouldered their way towards an available couch that was glued to the wall, hoping to pass undetected and praying to avoid meeting any other Avengers, at least for the time being, Loki caught up with her and leaned close to her ear to secretly whisper praise like no other.

“First with Sam, then with your advisor, now with Stark himself. You seem to be my saving grace, do you know that?”.

She giggled and tried to walk a little bit faster to get away from the rest of whatever he was going to utter, but he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her back to him.

“So brave, so chivalrous of you. Makes me wonder to what lenghts you'd go to protect my honour”.

“Oh, you have no idea Mr Laufeyson. No idea”, she implied and made a second attempt at escaping, this time succeding.

 _Do I deserve you?,_ he pondered before sitting down at the corner of the couch beside her. Watching her closely as she straigthened her dress, all dapper and proper, he frowned at the formality of it, not identifying it as something they would do. Not anymore.

“Why do you sit so far away?”, he inquired softly.

“What do you mean? I'm right here”, Andrea argued, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“Come here”, he welcomed, gesturing with his hand for her to come closer.

Andrea scooted an inch, as that was all the space that separated them, but kept a general coy outlook on the situation. She bit her lip and raised her brows, pretending ignorance as to what the God really wanted.

“You know what I'm thinking”, he stated boldly, keeping her gaze with a gentle ferocity that made her chew her lip even harder.

“Do I? Really?”.

“Yes, you do”, he insisted and patted his thigh, “I'm thinking that you don't sit on my lap as often as I'd like you to”.

“Well, I thought that as your equal I was entitled to my own seat”, she playfully retorted, arching her brows in defiance.

“Having you sit on me does not imply you're not my equal, little dancer”, he presented a counter opinion, turning a bit to look at her better, arms stretching on top of the arm and back rest, opening up his embrace even more, “It means I'm putting you in a higher position than my own self. That I trust you to top me anytime you so please. To have me under the rule of your body whenever you wish, and ohh, I'd be the happiest man alive being under there. It's a position of power. Power you have over me”.

His enigmatic bass voice made her breath come out shallower and her body way too aware of his proximity. It was as if his very presense or the mere knowledge that they were sitting in the same space was more than enough to blur the lines between abstinence and unadulterated passion. If she was not determined to converse with him, she might have straight ahead loomed over him for a kiss. Responsibilities and inexperience be damned.

“We are one, you know. You and I”, he added, leaning forward to cup her overheated cheek. She leaned into the touch automatically, “And we have the freedom between us to bend the rules whenever we want”.

 _Bend the rules whenever we want_...

She rose slowly from her seat, careful not to step on her long dress with her heels. Casting a nervous glance around the room, secretly self conscious about people seeing them in such an intimate position, she lowered her body and arranged herself sideways so that her feet still touched the ground and her waist was gently supported on the armrest of the couch. That way her dress wouldn't get wrinkled and the fabric of his trousers wouldn't bunch up around the thighs.

Their bodies, already warm and laden with desire, complimented their elegant binding with the gentlemanly, yet possessive anchoring of needy hands. Loki's came around her slowly, encircling her waist and softly detaching her delicate fingers from her collarbones, where they anxiously scratched at the skin and fumbled with the dress straps. Her eyes shifted towards him, magnitising him with their sweet, innocent plea to make her feel at least a bit more comfortable in front of all these stuck up people with their overpriced jewlery and lengthy gowns and sharp stares that judged according to money rate.

She loosely draped her arms around his neck and made a quick job of brushing his hair over to one side to expose the alabaster skin. Her knuckles found the pumping pulse points and caressed them with worship and wonderousness, as if the spots had their own unique beauty and needed to be celebrated by an equally unique touch. The touch of a loved one.

“Loki, you know it's not an insult, right? It's-”, she began tentatively, but was smoothly cut off.

“To be called an immigrant and a fugitive?”, he clrarified.

“Yes”.

“I know it's not, darling. What upsets me is-”.

“- the way he said it”, she filled in for him, her brows forming a bushy compassionate line, “Hm?”.

“That too, my love, that too. In addition, I do not enjoy being reminded that I belong nowhere. And that fact coming out of Stark's mouth makes it all the more insufferable”.

Andrea's lips parted and quivered just slightly, his sore insecurity reaching her heart and breaking it, “But... but, lover, you do belong somwhere”. She took his hand from where it rested on her waist and dragged it up to her heart, gently keeping it under her breast, where she knew he would definitely feel the raging thumping, the pounding of war, passion and chaos.

Loki's haunted eyes changed then. It was as if the colour returned to them, as if tiny bulbs were intantly lit up within his orbs. He looked up at her carefully, his gaze travelling from her lap to her breast to her torn face, melting into a puddle of softness and realisation. Her eyes, evergreen and fiery, were determined and honest and cloudy as a stormy night, probably from the whisky, but that did not deter from their beauty. In fact, it seemed like the bluriness of alcohol made them glitter and shine all the more.

“And don't you ever forget it”, she added with a smirk that sparked his heart into a frenzy tantrum.

He released himself from her hold and caught her fingers in a gentle grip, bending them so that her knuckles were left exposed and unprotected against the hotness of his greedy lips. He laid a gentle kiss there, holding his breath just to maintain some more silence and listen to her own catch in her throat. How peculiar that even after all this time, he still had the same effect on her. Her beautiful skin, although she didn't always believe it to be so, rosied up like a parisian garden on spring time, wide, curious eyes sparkling, desires and wants dancing in them, all flashing before them like headlines of tomorrow's newspapers, like a ghostly message from the future. 

And then the quiet mingling of breaths and the frenzied chattering of eyes was brought to an end, because as Loki's eyes shifted towards the gathered guests, they happened to fall upon a figure, slowly approaching in a seemingly friendly and none intrusive manner.

“Captain Rogers, what an honour”, Loki mused during the soldier's last steps.

“Long time, no see Loki. Where have you been hiding?”, he replied in an easy going american accent.

He exuded a calmness and an unwavering seriousness that immediately caught Andrea's attention. He was dressed nicely, yet simply, formaly, but comfortably as if he had adjusted his clothing choices to the constant alertness and required flexibility his line of work demanded. He struck her as the observant type, the one with wise eyes and fast brains that could solve puzzles in the blink of an eye. Sharp and resourceful. The soldier out of time. But his fingers were calloused and the pads were quite flat. Was he sketching too? Was there some spark of hidden creativity behind all the muscle and the patriotism? Andrea silently wondered...

“I wasn't really hiding now, was I?”, Loki mocked lightly, but Andrea immediately caught the ironic hint. How can a man be hiding when cameras are flying above his head?

“No, I guess you weren't”, Steve retorted and then turned his attention towards the stunning female presence of the company, “I'm Steve Rogers miss, pleasure to meet you”.

He extended his hand and Andrea shook it firmly. Her lips stretched into a wide, bright smile as she introduced herself, “Andrea. Pleasure's all mine”.

He returned the smile and nodded in affirmation, “I must say, I'm impressed with what you did to Stark back there. I was close by and overheard the argument. You really put him in his place. You should know, not many peope have succeeded in that task”, the soldier praised.

“I don't like remaining idle when people are being bullied. I just don't... like bullies. I don't care where they're from or how much money they got in their pockets”, she declared, her face stern and imutable as pure, unformed iron.

Steve tipped his beer towards her in a ''you and me both'' gesture, easily recognising her words and the meaning behind them. She was tenacious and he admired that.

“Wish we had more of your straight forwardness and conviction on the team. That way we might be able to stay away from smashing each other's faces. It happens often, I'm afraid. Well... Oh, by the way, Loki, Clint apologises for not making it to the party tonight. He preferred to abstain. He's, ahm, still a little upset about the whole mind control thing back in the day”.

Loki quietly laughed at the announcement, “What a blessing. One less for the evening”, and then added in a much more conversational manner, “And what about you, Captain? Do you hold any patriotic grudges against me?”.

Steve only half smiled, “Loki, I never held any grudges against you. You didn't do anything to me. And even if you had, I'm sure I'd have found some way to get past it instead of sitting around, skulking endlessly and cursing you”.

“But I did do quite the lot in Stuttgart and New York, didn't I?”.

“And you paid for it dearly. Dungeon in Asgard must have been punishment enough. My advice and opinion? It's time to let go. And I'm not talking about only you letting go. I'm talking about the team as well”.

The God tipped his chin up in a sense of superiority, brows furrowed in utter concentration, as he scanned and carefully inspected the man's words and intentions for faults and lies. It wouldn't be surprising if the others had put him up to this. Befriend the subject under study to gain its trust, similar to how the little dancer had earlier suggested.

“Fair enough, Captain”, the decision came and although Loki was not utterly convinced, he resigned himself to following the currents for now to see where they would lead.

Steve nodded, pressing his lips together to avoid a shy smile.

“Good”, he acknowledged, “Also, you're both welcome to stay for the afterparty, when all these folks will be out and it will be much quieter”.

Andrea smiled graciously and while wrapping her arms around Loki, accepted the polite invitation, “Thank you, will do”.

The soldier took his leave then, wishing them a good evening and urging them to try out some of the food served.

Once he was far out of ear shot, Loki gave Andrea a questioning look, “Will we?”.

She shrugged, “Maybe”.

“Are you sure you're comfrotable with that?”.

“Not entirely, but I'll manage. Apart from Stark, everyone is behaving way too nicely and that unnerves me a bit. I  _was_ expecting a more hostile environment. But... besides that...”, she shook her head, “... I don't see what could go wrong”. 

“Many many things can go wrong, little dancer and yet, in agreement with the Captain, after what you said to Stark, I do not think you need my protection at all. It seems to me you can handle everything just fine”, he praised and his heart exploded at how she lowered her face to his neck to hide her embarassment.

“Your mere presence is my protection and... your... your hands... on me... they make me courageous”, she breathed out, barely putting the words together.

He smirked at the sound of that, his ready verbal response swiftly replaced by the slow trailing and pitter patter of his fingers up and down and right and left of her naked spine. 

The pleasant shivers that consumed her at some point became almost too much, for after half an hour of sweet, tortuous treatment, her skin had begun to tingle. Not to mention that her body had started to react to him in the way she feared the most and loved with an addiction at the same time. Everything was so warm and wet and slippery and nice that she momentarily felt encricled in some external womb.

She had sufficiently busied herself with watching couples sway on the dance floor, men and women slowly succumbing to the rhythms of the blues, jazz, jumpy pop. Fumbling with her dress, she observed the way they moved, how they interacted outside the social confines of groups, where disgusting small talk had to be had and introductions were always in order. People were so much freer when they just moved their bodies, communicating via _them_ instead of confusing onslaughts of words.

Loki was observing her closely, catching every tiny detail of her expression as she raked her curious eyes over the couples, taking in the motion, the intimacy they shared during the songs. She was looking at them with such unadulterated interest as they bend their bodies to the will of the siring sounds, as they tried to adjust their spines and hands and legs to the melodies of combined instruments.

Longing sighs escaped her lips during this half hour of mutual silence. Meticulous gazes at the dance floor adorned with so many men and women who rolled around and swayed, the soles and heels of their shoes clicking lightly upon the hard wooden surface and all the while, the little dancer, who should be up there showing them all what dancing meant, fidgeted and bit the inside of her lip, anxious and wanton and barely restrained upon his comfortable lap. And yet, for all her beguiling youth and young spirit, carefree heart and ripe body, she wouldn't utter a word to him, wouldn't ask him for what she yearned the most. Such a mysterious contradiction really, if one was to take into immediate consideration how she had open heartedly instigated a rather sensual dance the other day in the kitchen.

He drew his arm away from her waist and snaked it around her back, pulling her down and closer. He traced her soft and slightly sweaty cheek with his knuckles, the caress so reverent that it resembled the worshipping of idols in temples. Her world crushed and burned from that touch, or even the simple insinuation that he was touching her like so due to her lovely fragility and value. A long finger glided down the crook of her neck, skiied down the slope of a shoulder and made her shiver and tremble, the sheet of light hairs adorning it, rising to attention immediately.

Pale, thin lips touched her other shoulder and released the skin slowly with a smootching sound that reached her ears and blurred her mind's rationality.

“Why aren't you asking?”, he breathed, raising goose bumps all over her skin.

“Asking... what?”, Andrea stammered.

“You know what, little one”, he chided and gave her another kiss.

“It's okay. I'm fine. I don't mind”.

“But I do”.

She gave him a quizzical look, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“You want to dance. Why aren't you asking?”.

“No, it's fine”.

“Why not, darling? You love dancing”, he questioned, turning her beautiful face towards him with a finger under her chin.

“I do, yes. But... you don't”, she admitted, her skittish eyes straying away, “I don't want to drag you into something... you're not comfortable with. Just... just to indulge me”.

His brows went up in gradual sorrow, the squint of his eyes apologetic, “Now now, there's a grave fault in that thinking. You're a woman of action, of motion, aren't you?”.

She nodded shippishly, avoiding direct contact with his eyes.

“You enjoy the fluidity, you give into the drive that consumes you to the sound of good music. Dancing is your escape. Do not deny it to yourself simply because _I_ am a terrible partner”, he interjected, sliding his hand from chin to cheek.

She smiled and put her own above his, pressing it to her skin and nuzzling into it, seeking more and more.

“You are not a terrible dancer”.

“I'm not?”, he questioned happily.

“No, you're not. You are actually very graceful and... sensual and... trust worthy. And that' s a very inportant principle when a couple dances”.

It was his time to beam at the praise, a devious smirk conquering the sharpness of his jawline as he asked, “And do you trust me now?”.

Andrea thought about it for a moment, or at least pretended to be thinking about it, just for the sake of making him wait. But the look he was giving her was an absolute vortex of menace and stripped bare lechery, and as he squinted his eyes and their colour disappeared, leaving only tiny slim cracks of blackness, she had to divert her attention back and forth, between him and the dancing couples to stay logical about this. His kneaded brows only added to that intense gaze and the occasional licking of his lips had her grinding her knees in search of delicious pressure in those secluded places that had numbed out from lack of action.

Her resistance was futile as it lasted for barely thirty seconds before she got up and offered him her hand, tilting her head to the side in silent invitation.

“Make me look like I know what I'm doing, little one”, he joked and took her hand, yanking her flash against him.

Finding spare room to dance wasn't much of a struggle since most of the couples had retired to the buffet, bar or available couches now that the DJ had put on the slower melodies.

They effortlessly assumed position, almost as if they had been practicing and preparing for a magical musical number for ages. Andrea placed a hand on his shoulder while her other came up to tuck some strands of disarray hair behind his ear before she rested it flat on his heart. She flexed her fingers and scratched at the softness of the fabric, giggling excitedly when the magnificent feel of it reached the touchy neurones of her brain. Loki cupped that hand with a more than welcome and hot palm and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer until their slender hipbones tucked cozily against each other. She stumbled a bit and laughed it off out loud, her loving heart pouring out of her eyes in joyful tear drops.

What began as a timid rocking from side to side and as a slight sway of hips soon developed into a full swing with pirouettes and slow, intimate grinds that matched the tender rhythm of the songs popping up. Andrea made sure of that as she took the lead and guided them into many a dance moves, which, one after the other, Loki skillfuly mastered, though he'd definitely deny it if asked.

He swung her under his arm, like they had done at the penthouse, watching her with tethered enthusiasm and deep longing as she smiled brightly at him, winking and praising him for his trusting partner's grip. She was a conquerer tonight, of both hearts and the dance floor and he couldn't conceal his imminent urge to steal her away and hide her from everyone else's greedy eyes.

Her graceful pirouettes made the bottom of her onyx dress flare. From head to toe, he imagined her being consumed by the darkness of the fabric that adorned her, being swallowed by a lit with stars and promises night. Would she devour him too, he wondered, and would have been more than content to keep entertaining these thoughts if his enhanced hearing had not caught secretive whispers and hushed nonesense.

_“Tony, stop this, please. Why do you insist on keeping up with this folly?”._

His brother's voice argued from somewhere amongst the masses. He sounded in a hurry and if Loki was not mistaken, worried as well.

_“Folly? Thor, shake your head and tell me if there's a brain hiding in there. Why do I keep this up, he says. Look at him! He's fucking swinging around with the little assailant. It's like watching Tim Barton's ''Corpse Bride''”._

_“Oh, do cease with the references, I beg you. It's as if you're doing it on purpose”._

Stark's voice _. Yes, it can't be misheard,_ he thought with derision _._ And why ''assailant''? What was that for? Referring to his woman in such poor manner...

_“I can see that he's dancing and I will admit, it is untoward, but even so, it should only serve as valid confirmation that he is innocent. This time, at least”._

_“Oh, yeah? And what about her? Cause you know she's far from innocent. We all know it!”._

_“Do not blame her for errors of the past. What's done cannot be undone. And additionally, police reports said it was not intentional in any way. It was a terrible occurrence sparred amidst the terror and confusion of the moment. Why do you not believe that? Why do you insist on turning it into something that it's not?”._

_Police reports? Accident? Which accident?,_ he repeated, his eyes going nervously around the room to hopefully catch the men's expressions, but as much as he tried he couldn't locate them.

He gathered the little dancer in his arms, chuckling in her ear unassumingly, not wishing to alert her of the suspicious conversation in progress.

_“But how are you so sure that there isn't more to the story? Hm? What if there are parts that got excluded? Parts that didn't reach the family's statements?”._

_“Tony, listen to me because I will say this only once. I trust my brother's judgement. He's not insane, even though you clearly believe him to be-”._

_“Actually, I believe the same about her too”._

_“Please, let me finish. Neither of them is what you so harshly describe. They are both changed, adult people who found happiness in each other's company. Nothing suspicious about that”._

_“Allow me to have a different opinion”._

_“And what opinion might that be?”._

_“That she's a cold, manipulative teen psycho. Did you hear how she talked to me before? How she looked at me”._

_“You are seeing enemies everywhere, Tony. She was defending my brother who you probably greatly hurt with your words. Can't you see she's protective of him? Can't you see... she loves him?”_

_“In her own twisted manner of course. Maybe she loves him as much as she loved her abusive father. You read the report I sent you, right? That bruise in her eye took two months to heal. Maybe there's a pattern repeating itself here, if you ask me. Seeking daddy in every man”._

At that moment, as those damned words pierced through the air and got delivered staight into his sensitive ear, he stopped listening. The black cocoon, his mind that was, ceased trying to figure out what was that all about and put an end to the ongoing struggle to piece together a past that was, by the minute, proving to be as gruesome as he had imagined it from the beginning. And the tortuous truth of it all was that despite being given new crumbs of information, they were stubbornly as confusing as the actual reality of that part of Andrea's life. They formed together an inconclusive and blurry picture of what must have happened before Edinburgh, but indicated nothing as to the clearness and the distinctiveness of the unknown event. Those parts remained concealed, almost as if it was sacrilege to bring them up and shed some light onto them. And even if he could surpass the initial shock of the words being uttered, '' _the bruise in her eye_ '', '' _seeking daddy in every man_ '', and somehow reboot the rational side of his brain, he would still be left with a mere concept of the event. An idea of the truth, but not the truth itself.

“Handsome?”, he heard her calling, but was unable to reply.

“Loki?”, she phrased, chuckling, “Handsome, are you with me?”.

He knew he couldn't avoid answering. He was aware of how suspicious it would look if he grabbed her and teleported them away from here, back to the safety of their home. He was suddenly left with no choice but to resume dancing and preserve his patience, simultaneously, summoning his guard back up. They couldn't leave, at least not at the moment, not until he had more clues as to how severe the situation actually was. Not until he had determined for himself that he was able to protect her from this, whatever this was.

“Yes, forgive me, I got distracted for a bit”, he apologised curtly, his eyes finding her confused face.

“Distracted by what?”.

“By you, of course. I don't know if you've noticed, but I can't seem to take my eyes off of you tonight”.

Andrea chuckled delightfully and nodded, “That makes two of you then”.

That got him upset all over again. His smile faded in an instant. His jaw tightened in a flash, “What do you mean by that?”.

She leaned forward, close to his ear, “Turn us around and look at the woman who's beside the bar. In the corner”.

Loki span her around by her soft waist and focused his gaze to the spot she had indicated. Immediately his eyes fell to a most dazzling, yet deadly presense in the room. That one, he knew quite well.

“Do you see her?”.

“Of course I do, love”, he confirmed, a mirthful giggle escaping his tense lips.

“Is she looking back at you?”, Andrea breathed against his collar, heating his skin up.

“Of course she is”.

She hummed, “Is she agent Romanoff?”.

“The one and only”, Loki supplied promptly, not taking his eyes off the woman, “Black Widow. Usually comes in a package with Burton, but since he decided to relieve himself of our presense tonight, I suppose she's going solo”.

Andrea nodded slowly and rearranged her hands, this time laying them flat on his chest muscles.

“She's... very pretty”, she commented and even though she was facing away from the woman, the image of fiery red curls, carefully coiffured into vintage waves appeared on her mind like it had been tattooed.

“She's nothing compared to your beauty”, Loki interjected, his voice cutting through the silence between them like the sharpest knife. The edge of seriousness in his tone, the deep bass of it and the reassuring coat made her shiver pleasantly against him, a shy smile forming on her lips at the praise.

“Stop it. I'm blushing again”, she chastised, but smiled that stupid school girl grin that she hated on her face.

“But that's the reason I compliment you so much”, he divulged. Her shyness was a drug to him and he would do everything in his power to coax it out and lather himself with it.

Hiding her face in the crook of his neck, she whined sweetly, “You're beautiful too”.

A cautious kiss was placed above the collar of his button down, soft and feather like, a worthy equivalent of that chaste sensation one is consumed by when eyelashes tenderly batter against the skin, leaving tiny, invisible lines, little scars that tingle. He found himself in awe of how easily a small and timid interaction, such as this, could cloud his mind and stirr him to full arousal. How such a seemingly insignificant thing bore such heavy meaning that all he yearned to do was return it in earnest, make her shiver the same way she had made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

“Andrea...”, he whispered raspingly, “... may I?”, and brushed her hair backwards, tucking some stranded locks behind her shapely ears, “I promise I'll stop after the one”.

She had no idea why there wasn't any hesitation from her part, where in truth there should have been. The only clear thing now was that what had once been the horny, unrestrained imaginings of a female brain, were now submerged into reality, assuming shape, sound and sensation and Andrea was not at all sure who she was becoming as she jumped through the phases in her life. As she started to think for real that he, only he, could pluck the ideas out of her mind and use his intellect and body to make them happen.

“Yes...”, she breathed out her whisper, a barely audible sound that miraculously reached his ears, especially above the piercing mellowness of the piano.

He slowly leaned forward, all the while trying to catch her uncertain gaze, but failing. He chose to kiss the spot where shoulder met neck, that golden slope, focusing the enthralling placement of his cool lips on a ticklish, thick vein that ascended her skin like a green vine upon a wall. That wall shuddered, laboured breaths clawing their way out of the pipes within it, from its very foundations. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as his own stayed put on the spot, teasing the skin back and forth with tenderness. When the tip of his expert tongue lavished her with wet attention, she tensed and stilled her body, putting an immediate end to the slow sway they had going on. Her fingers twisted the fabric on his breast and she buried her humiliated face deeper in the space between his chest and throat in an attempt to hide the colour of her embarassment. Or desire.

Next he worried the skin on her shoulder, busying himself with gently biting and pulling at it while his nose got squished against the protruding and defined bone of her collar. He breathed her scent in, that untamed mixture of perfume and sweat and tangible arousal. Her almost limp hands clutched at him harder and it was only in the last minute that she managed to choke down her moan.

“You... agh... you said you would... you would stop after...”, she stuttered.

The hotness of his tenacious lips warmed her whole and emptied her mind of anything even remotely close to coherent. The various reactions of her body were difficult to be told apart, but one was completely distinct. Her legs were shaking. Her thighs quivered. Her knees had turned to jelly and with each kiss he laid upon her, trembled in silent anticipation. Between her legs an onslaught was in progress. A complete massacre of inhibition. Juices and heat. Saltiness and soft velvet. All gathered, ready to drip down her thigh and mark her forever.

“Do you want me to?”, he rasped, his breathing ragged. He grabbed her waist tighter, a little bit worried that he was taking it too far for her comfort.

“Is this too much?”, he whispered, nudging his nose under her ear, “Do you really wish me to stop?”.

In a tremulous voice and in the midst of that awful itching pull developing rapidly in her pussy, she admitted, “No... no. But...”.

“But what?”.

“You're... you're gonna have to...”.

“Says who?”, he argued playfully and swiftly moved to torturing another poor vein, closer to her throat.

“Nobody...”, she swallowed thickly, clutching at him with all her might, trying to appear as normal as possible to the crowd around them, “It's just that... I see... I see your brother, close to the couches, and he is... he is waving us over and if you... if you keep this up, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep... a straight face”.

“Fuck”, Loki groaned, way too coherently, “Fucking idiot”, and detached himself from the body he longed to tend to.

Andrea slid her hand around his waist and looked at him chastely. He was licking his lips, which at first struck her as odd, but after a minute of watching him do it again and again she began to think... what if it wasn't just an awekward, nervous reaction... what if he was trying to take what he had just tasted... inside him. What if he was savoring her...

She pressed her lips together in annoyed frustartion, suppressing her own groans and curses as she felt the places he had kissed tingle and cool down. She had expected the absence of his mouth to have been easier. She had expected that she wouldn't miss him from her neck so much. But it wasn't, for her body painfully reminded her, by wheeping and dripping and sweating, just how much it craved his attention. That primal contact, that mindless vortex of sensation that he only knew how to administer.

In despair she remembered that since settling down in the penthouse with him, she hadn't touched herself at all, an activity she had previously limitlessly indulged in. Frankly, it was the only part of her day where she truly felt at peace. She realised that she needed to, now, to the point where it pulsed and ached and she felt like bursting. The friction was all she could think about. The white black out, the little stars before her eyes was all she wanted. But sadly, given their current circumstance, she could not satisfy it and, honest to herself, it wasn't her hand she imagined between her legs...

As the couple joined a slouched and stretched out Valkyrie and a laid back, smiling Thor and started interacting, the young woman thankfully found the conversation distracting enough and managed to take her mind off anything else. Sitting on Loki's lap with his strong, lean, long, sexy arms embracing her around the waist was admittedly a challenge, but she pulled through quite well, ignoring all the while the slick wetness that dampened her curls and tickled her heated petals.

Surprisingly enough, it was Loki who had initiated the conversation, amiably and very light heartedly, “How are the people fairing, brother? Are they content? Settled?”.

Thor got the chance then to proudly explain all about his and Stark's brilliant rehabilitation program, which was meticulously adjusted to accommodate the Asgardian people's needs and introduce them to their new home. It was a great plan, successfully executed for the past two years.

Andrea was thrilled by it and remarked on it in great extent, feeling comfortable enough to express her opinions openly, trusting her current company to appreciate and comment on them in a productive, respectful manner. Since the topic was refuges and imigration she saw the opportunity to offer parts of her own experience and let Thor, as King of his people, gain useful knowledge from the retelling. Being an imigrant herself she had lived first hand the steps from leaving your own country up to settling down to a new one.

She was surprised, to say the least, to have caught the God's interest so much so that he started asking questions about how he could engage into the education sector, how he could learn its policy around the world in order to assist the youngest of his civilization to obtain positions in higher education in universities, colleges and the like. Since she had already gotten through the nerve wrecking process once, she was more than happy to inform him extensively.

“Thank you for this, Andrea. You've really shed some light onto the whole situation. I appreciate it”, Thor graced her.

“No problem. It's the least I can do after all the trouble you went into”.

“Don't even mention it. Besides, it was Tony who pulled all the right strings. I was just the messenger. Thanks should go to him, not me”.

Andrea drew in a sharp breath and slammed her fist against her open palm, “I really wish it was that easy to thank him. But it's not”.

“Yes, yes”, Thor agreed, shaking with laughter, “I understand your meaning. Tony can be... difficult. He has this type of sarcastic determination, pure stubborness at times, that can infuriate even the most patient of people. Trust me though, he'll grow on you”.

 _Maybe she loves him as much as she loved her abusive father. You read the report I sent you, right? That bruise in her eye took two months to heal. Maybe there's a pattern repeating itself here, if you ask me. Seeking daddy in every man...,_ Loki thought then, struggling to understand how it stood possible to come to terms with a man like that. Cocky, arrogant, ready to assume based on stupid reports. What reports? Reports saying what?

“Oh, don't bother. He's a dickhead”, Valkyrie snorted boldly which threw Andrea in a crazed fit of giggles.

“I think... I think I'm gonna go with _her_ view of things”, she said, shaking her head appovingly.

Thor gave Val a disapproving look that quickly, futily turned into a full smile. It was obvious that he couldn't keep up the sterness for long. This silent interaction of theirs was endearing and candid in an almost childlike manner. She and Loki only chilled when alone and around each other, because if apart their coldness and aloofness took hold, their guard went up and god help any man that stood in their path. Thor and Valkyrie were like cosy fire burning in a hearth in contrast to herself and Loki, who were ice. Sharp and clear, diaphanous, yet dangerous to walk upon in spite of their thick surface.

“How have you been, brother? It's really you I should ask. Here in the Compound it's much of the same every day”, Thor voiced after a while, reaching across the mahogany table to tap Loki's knee.

“I suppose you're asking out of courtesy?”, the God of Mischief questioned in his usual poised tone of voice. Thor lifted an eyebrow in confusion, but the darker God could not be fooled so easily.

“Oh, come on Thor. I'm sure you know Stark has ten different satellites watching me night and day so you are more than aware how I've been doing. Drinking, fucking, wasting away. Take your pick”.

Thor glanced flittingly towards Andrea, who, upon meeting his eyes tensed and looked away.

“But not anymore though, right?”.

Loki cast longing eyes up to the face of the woman in his arms, who suddenly disconcertingly felt like the centre of attention.

“Not anymore”, he repeated and his arms tightened around her waist.

“How did you two meet?”, Valkyrie asked.

Andrea and Loki looked at each other hastily, both extremely unsure about how to answer that question without letting too much on.

 _He stumbled upon me while I was whoring myself out, just like daddy said I would_ , she thought bitterly, but tried to shun the thought away before he managed to read it. She shoved the poisonous thoughts away, suddenly nervous and afraid of him actually taking a peak at them.

“He was a customer at the bar I used to work in”, she chose to say. Loki didn't interject. He remained silent and refrained from backing her up. Anyway, she wasn't lying. She was just concealing parts of the truth.

“Bartending and dancing, huh?”, Valkyrie pressed.

“Yeah”, Andrea answered shortly.

Truth been told, she couldn't even convince herself. Having lost her touch with lies and deceit a long time ago, she was almost certain that the truth would actually reveal itself in the guilty sweat dripping past her brow.

“Cool. I like drinking. Dancing, not so much”, the woman across declared and then suggested, looking from person to person, “Who's up for another round?”.

She came back from the bar in a flash, carrying a bottle of expensive whisky and four shot glasses which she distributed around. Everyone drank and delighted in the scorching sensation of the spirit that travelled down their throat, warming them up as it went. Val soon ditched her own short glass and drank straight from the bottle, which sent her laughably into a light dosing off. “Oh, dear, did she drink herself to death already?”, Loki mocked.

As if out of pure stubborness and spite, Val rose from her slumber and slapped him hard on the shoulder.

“I can hear you, asshole”, she growled at him.

“Fantastic”, he teased, feigning to be greatly impressed.

Andrea laughed at his cajoling, but the strong vibrations soon alerted her of another function of her body that demanded attention. With all this drinking, she had probably enlarged her bludder by a few intches.

Pressing a hand to her lower belly, she excused herself, “Sorry everyone. The human has to visit the bathroom”.

She set her glass on the little table and got up carefully, straightening her dress a bit at the bodice area.

“Down that corridor, I think”, Val guided and indicated towards a double door beside the bar.

“Okay, thanks. Be back in a minute, handsome”.

Loki gave her a quick peck on the knuckles and then completely let her go, releasing her from his hold. He instantly missed her weight on top of him and as he watched her disappear behind the many strange faces and bodies of the crowd, the rippling shape of her shoulder and back muscles, moving and twitching like a feline's, initiated a jolt of happiness throughout him. That was until Thor cleared his throat, distracting him.

“What?”, he quipped, his expression rapidly changing from softness and gentleness to the first visages of the annoyed scowl everybody recognised on him.

“Is it serious, brother?”, the blond God clarified, nodding with his head towards the direction Andrea had gone.

The faintest smirk, forced back by his tight control found its way to his hard mouth, which, at the last minute, twitched and betrayed his emotion. His eyes glinted with twisted mischief, his green irises sparkling like crystal clear, raging rivers of a seemingly dead forest. It was a change in behaviour that Thor had aqcuainted himself with a couple of times before. He recognised it on his brother, but this time... something was different. This cold fire that burned within his breast was quicker, deeper, menacing anf dangerous and difficult to hide. One could easily mistake it for love. Little did he know, it was. In a derranged sort of way.

“Are you in love with her?”.

The God of Mischief gave no voice to it, but after weeks of putting himself under the grind stone and evaluating his private emotion and worth, the answer had become stark clear to him in the truest, simplest way. He had seen himself through her eyes. He knew who he was now. He knew what he felt.

In the meantime, Andrea got completely lost in that brightly lit corridor. There were so many doors but no indicative signs as to which led where and shy, as she was by nature, she couldn't force herself to push them all open until she discovered where the bathroom was hiding at.

“Damn it”.

She was about to turn around and head to the bar to ask for more specific directions, when a gentle voice cooed from somewhere behind her.

“Can I help you with something?”. 

Andrea looked over her shoulder towards the direction of the voice, grateful that someone was offering assistance. That was until she matched the voice to that someone's face. She would lie if she said she didn't freeze a little.

She nodded to the woman, plastering a polite smile on her face, “Yes, actually. I was looking for the ladies restroom”.

Agent Romanoff smiled back at her, but despite the enticing stretch of her reddish lips, the rest of her face was devoid from any kind of emotion. Her eyes, blue-green and cat like at the edges, were blank and yet fixed on Andrea solely as if they had some unknown purpose. They potentially had, Andrea deduced. 

“I'm heading there too. Follow me”.

The agent paced towards the right door and once over the threshold, held it open for Andrea to pass through as well.

She followed the cold and falsely welcoming agent inside the bathroom and headed quickly towards one of the cabinets, not wanting to stay in her presence for longer than was obliged to. There was something in the air that surrounded her, in the purposeful way she moved and in the space she occupied that made Andrea want to be as far away as possible.

When she was all done and relieved she went straight to the sinks and turned the water on, soaping her hands thoroughly with some kind of lavender liquid. A quick glance towards the woman's still form warned her that she was in no dire need to use the bathroom herself. A pretence it was then. The excuse. The interrogation office of her choice.

“Nice dress”, Natasha Romanoff said all of a sudden, making Andrea's nerve endings tweak as if she'd been hit by electricity.

“Thank you”, she said curtly.

“Did he buy it for you?”, the redhead continued, shrugging her shoulders unassumingly.

“No, he didn't”.

She hummed, “Self sufficient, aren't you? I like that. It suits you”.

“The dress or the self-sufficiency?”.

“Both”.

“Well, thank you agent”, Andrea acknowledged. By calling her out with her title she showed lack of fear in admitting authority. She was well aware who she was up against and was not afraid to confront them.

“Don't mention it. I remember from my upbringing in Russia that all escorts were always sharply dressed when decorating someone's arm. Benefits of the trade, I guess”.

“I'm not an escort”, Andrea corrected, struggling not to be offended or show her confusion about the longing in the agent's voice.

“Aren't you? Oh, sorry. I didn't mean it as an insult though”.

Such audacity. Andrea couldn't quite believe it as she laughed a menacing laugh, bowing her head above the sink.

“Maybe you did. Maybe you didn't. Nonetheless, I expected more forceful ways of interrogation than cat-fishing”.

She knew she was probably courting war and playing with fire, but this whole suffocating situation was turning her sarcastic and defensive, a usually deadly combination that on most occasions warned people off and stopped them from annoying her any further.

“Do you want me to get more forceful? It's much more fun that way, I gotta admit”.

“No, I'd rather you didn't. My dress is silk and I don't intend on ruining it”, Andrea mocked and thought afterwards of introducing herself, just to see what would happen, “I'm Andrea by the way”.

“I know who you are, darling”.

“Of course you do. Good. Talking to strangers is dangerous”.

The redhead chuckled lightly at the remark, but her face soon fell again into the coolness of the interrogator on duty.

“Shall we continue with the questions then?”.

Andrea dried her hands with a small towel by the sink and looked in the mirror to make sure her lipstick was still in place.

“If we must”.

Natasha Romanoff didn't waste a second.

“You're Greek?”.

“Yes”.

“Very exotic. So foreign. Why do you speak with a perfect British accent”.

“Because I can”.

“Did you have special tutors teaching you how to do that?”.

“No. I'm self-taught. I picked it up from BBC. Impressed?”.

“Very. Where were you trained?”.

“Trained? What are you... I'm not an agent”, she denied, furrowing her brows in utter confusion. She had expected all kinds of questions this evening. But not this.

“Turkey? Albania? Kiev?”.

“I'm not an agent”, Andrea insisted blantantly.

“No? How about spy?”.

“Spy? Do I look like it?”.

“You don't. Maybe you know too well what you're doing”.

“I can assure you, I'm not. Too clumpsy”.

“Are you sure about that?”, agent Romanoff insisted further, taking a step forwards, limiting Andrea's personal space all the more, “All that muscle you have. I bet you're ripped under that dress”.

“Positive. Pole dancing is to blame. Try it”.

“What are you to him?”.

The abrupt change in subject made Andrea blink hard. What was she getting at?

“Doll? Plaything? Girlfriend? Private whore?”.

“I'm his lover”, she stated calmly, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. So many assumptive and cruel titles.

And yet, there must have been some bravery in her heart for this was the first time she admitted it openly to someone that was not Loki. So intimately and fearlessly she had declared herself what _he_ only called her.

“Lover. How poetic. And how much does he pay... his lover, per day?”.

“I don't get paid, agent”, she retorted quickly.

“No. Okay then. How would you describe your relationship with him?”.

“Highly erotic with rapid lapses into insanity”.

“Didn't seem that way earlier on the dance floor”.

Andrea huffed audibly in exasperation, “That's why you were watching us? Were you expecting when he would pounce on me?”.

“Are you sexually intimate?”.

The young woman chuckled mockingly as she raked her hand through her hair and used the other to steady herself on the sink.

“Why? Are you jealous?”.

At that precise moment, for all intents and purposes, the fates decided it was the most appropriate time for the famous name of the day to make its grande entrance. The door to the ladies room was suddenly pulled ajar to let in a much grumpy and angry Loki, whose mouth and brows were already twisting into a scowl. He let the hard wood close abruptly behind him, producing a loud bang that made Andrea wince. And then there he stood, in all his majestic black suit glory, glaring at Black Widow as if she was supposed to be the one and only object of his hatred.

Andrea felt herself drip a little more at the sight of him looking so angry and menacing, even though she had just cleaned herself up. But the pull on her petals returned tenfold and she pressed her thighs together, desperately trying to lessen it as much as humanly possible.

“May I know what the hell is going on?”, Loki interrupted, the barely contained anger in his tone sending shivers down Andrea's spine.

“Nothing, handsome. We were in the middle of an interrogation, that's all. Are we done, agent Romanoff?”, she addressed the woman, who hadn't even flinched by Loki's sudden entrance in the limited space.

She let silence seep through for just a moment and then bargained, “Answer the question and we are. Is he using you sexually?”.

“That's enough”, Loki hissed angrily and began a slow advance towards her. But at the last minute he was firmly stopped by his little dancer's bass voice, which echoed all around the bathroom walls and rendered him speechless.

“Oh, yes. Vigorously. Every chance he gets. I don't even wear much clothing around the house. No need. He'll rip them apart just as he knows I like. Sometimes, it's even pointless to bother with underwear too. Do you really think I need them when I'm around him? Actually...”, she exhorted seductively and started pacing towards the somewhat stunned woman, “... I'm not even wearing them right now. Care to check?”.

Romanoff remained silent, recognising how the attention had been diverted towards her person and not in a manner which she could easily control.

Her lips quirked just slightly into a grin, “Maybe another time”, and she gave up, “Thank you for your cooperation”.

She left the room without further words, but Loki didn't even notice her as she passed him by, glaring up at him like a pouty, petulant child that hadn't gotten what was supposedly owed. His eyes were glued to Andrea, who was slightly leaning over the sink, drawing deep breaths to compose herself and let the tension of the moment go.

When she straightened again and sighed her frustration out, quietly sniffing the remnants of her courage, her eyes happened to fall on his through the mirror. And then something changed between them and like the flick of a switch entitled to determine the fate of the universe and the allignment of stars, they weren't any more two people living together who awaited enlightement and the perfect moment for affection. They were animals. Savage, angry, irrational and hungry for nourishment.

She held his intense gaze without blinking at all, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in and out. He stared back at her, his aroused body still as a statue only by the will of his nails digging into the thin skin of his fisted palms.

“Have you been waiting outside for long?”, she asked quietly.

“Long enough”, he rasped.

“Did you hear all of it?”.

His visceral blue orbs, the stern line of his dark, bushy brows... it all took her back to that night at the private room and all of a sudden, she sensed her dress dissolve, imagined it dropping from her body to reveal her perfect nakedness underneath. Those eyes of his were undressing her in the slowest, most intimate way possible. She felt them touching her and her stomach churned in nervous anticipation.

 

“Did you mean any of it?”, he answered the question with an equally feral question, tipping his chin up as if to establish superiority.

Her hands travelled down her bodice to clutch at the fabric that fell over her thighs. She turned around slowly, detatching herself from the mild comfort of the sink. She did not want to feel safety now. No. She wanted the chase. The wet, stomach upsetting feeling of being hunted, cornered, ravaged, whatever the painful consequences. She followed that primal instict as if it was the path to divinity itself, not caring one bit about the many twisted reasons behind her behaviour.

“I meant all of it. It... it might not be a reality yet, not entirely, but I meant every word”.

He took a small step towards her, in testing of the waters, and then another. Her eyes darted down to his legs and then back up again to his hard face that unfortunately showed no hints of his mood. It was a scary thing not to know what to expect from a man so poised and wise such as him, a dangerous insecurity to possess and strangely thrilling, despite the onimous warnings.

By the third calculated step, Andrea began to pace backwards, though not in fear. It was for the hunt, the slowness in her motion. It all revolved around the thrill of the hunt.

“Is it true?”.

She almost flinched from the rasp in his voice. Low and demanding like a predator's should be.

She swallowed thickly, “Is what true?”,

“Are you bare underneath?”.

Another step forward, slow and precise, and one more backwards, a little unsteady but confident. Her knuckles had turned white from the death grip they had on her dress and her heart was pounding harder and louder than a drum. She half expected it to tear its way through her chest, rip apart the fabric and fall at his feet.

“Yes”.

“Naughty”, he remarked, raising an eyebrow in soft reprimand.

“I don't care”.

“And why not?”.

She shrugged, “The silk felt better on my skin. I'm a sucker for sensation, you know that”.

He hummed deeply, the vibrating sound burning in the short distance between them, firing up all the little organisms and atoms flying around until there was nothing left to distance them.

Another step and she gently bumped against the wall, halting. But he didn't. He kept pacing towards her, his fists, which were previously tense and curled, now flexing free, long, ghostly fingers twitching with the need to grasp and feast on her body.

He chuckled, “Nice work with Romanoff. I've never seen her so flustered”. “When I'm threatened, I growl”.

“But you're not growling now. It sounds more like a pur”.

“That should tell you something”.

“Enlighten me”, he challenged, the most wicked smirk slicing across his jaw.

She tipped her head back to rest it on the tiled wall. The alteration of the position seemed like an offering since her strained neck was left exposed and at his mercy. Despite the bodily submission, her eyes remained defiantly on him, daring him to come closer.

“I'm not afraid of you”.

“But you want to be”.

“What's that supposed to mean?”.

“Fear excites you. Being cornered, you know you long for it. But the realisation that right now, there's no great chill down your spine, no clutching in your stomach, no ounce of true dread within you... worries you. Maybe you want me more than you're letting on”.

She didn't reply. Didn't wish to confirm the rightly put statement.

“You were very brave before. You stood up quite well for yourself. A true advocate of your very desire. Where has your fight gone all of a sudden?”.

She shook her head, not knowing the proper answer to that. If she didn't want to fight back and if she was making no attempt at escaping, then the only alternative would be surrender. And he had already figured out as such and was expertly using it to his advantage.

He reached her before she had the chance to second guess anything, this moment, her own self, the brutal shivers of her body. She didn't feel them before, too dumbstruck by the sensuality in the air to notice them. But his proximity triggered them somehow into full swing.

He grabbed her by the waist almost forcefully, his fingers digging into her flesh through the fabric of the dress, leaving bruises of little vertical moons. Her hands abandoned their secure position and came up to tangle in his raven mane. The long, curly at the edges, locks caressed her fingers almost revenently, as if they had a mind of their own.

“So warm... so beautiful...”, he whispered and there was a tinge of anguish weaved into his voice that surprised her greatly. For how long had he been yearning to do this?

Her gasp was music to his ears as he pressed his chest and thighs against hers, pinning her to the wall entirely, like a poor butterfly doomed to decorate the tiles for eternity. Squeezing her waist roughly, he let one hand slide behind her to the small of her back, to either protect her from the hardness of the wall or to bring her closer and find some much needed friction between her thighs. The dress was getting in the way, but he didn't seem to mind it. The same hand began a slow descent down the slope of one arse cheek and began to massage it, knead it gently and then firmer. The strangely soothing sensation sparked fires at the pit of her stomach and as he continued to rub her, feeling the tender squishinees of her bottom in the broad flat of his palm, Andrea could tell for certain that been groped at had never felt so good.

“You're burning, my love, do you know that?”, he rasped as their foreheads clashed against each other, their eyes connected to a bountless embrace that foretold of mayhem and destruction.

Before they knew what had gotten into them, they were almost molesting each other with an untoward eagerness that caught them both off guard. They were breathing hard and grabbing at each other as if they were nothing but ample chunks of tasty meat.

“You made her run away with her tail between her legs”, he complimented, leaning down to her ear to angrily nuzzle his nose against the tender pulse points.

“I was just stating... stating the obvious”, she argued breathlessly, tugging hard at a strand at the nape of his neck.

“And what's that, love?”, he cooed, attacking her earlobe with both tongue and teeth.

 _Fuck, what did you do? What's... what's that? Fuck, again, do it again. please_ , she screamed inside as he sucked her lobe into his mouth ceaselessly.

She moaned louder than she had expected, feeling herself go all soft and wet and welcoming to his advances. A flash of red spread all over her body at the realisation that this was really happening. It was happening outside the dirty confines of her mind. He was touching her. Eating her up. Breathing against her, all hard muscle squeezing hers against the wall. Trapped. Wanted. Cornered.

What might happen next was of little consequence to her, she thought.

“You're mine”.

He slowed down then, his face falling to her jaw. His lips stretched widely against the sharp bone line. It was a reward like no other. She felt his teeth grazing her skin, the smell of whisky mingling with the sweat on her cheeks. And then he looked at her and she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing.

She stared at him so expectantly, so wantonly that he felt his body tugging and nagging at him in all the right places, pulling him towards her as if magnets were hiding underneath her skin. His eyes vigorously darted between her wet brow and pliant, parted lips, a million and one emotions forming and deforming his expression.

Surprise. Shock. Appreciation. Disbelief. Need. Thankfulness.

He watched her quiver, that lower red lip trembling, pleading to be sucked into his mouth and paint his jaw bloody. Fidgety fingers laced through his hair were gently pulling him down towards that grand and most important entrance of her love and he was been guided with no equivocation, blindly, heatedly. He was steadily swimming towards heaven.

And then he was brutally dragged back to the shore by the damned, rusty hooks of shrieking female laughter.

 _No, no, no, no_. He couldn't believe it, but Andrea's breath hitched in her throat. She lowered and buried her face against his chest and withdrew much too abruptly her lovely hands from his sculp, securely tucking them under her chin, between their bodies, seeking his warmth and protection from the unwanted eyes of the intruders.

Wrapping a lean arm around her shoulders, he groaned and sighed deeply in utter frustration and anger. He guided the both of them away from the wall, shielding her with his body from the noisy girls that had entered the public bathroom and rudely interrupted the sacred moment.

“Come on, little dancer”, he said absent mindedly and just a tad miserably as he pushed the heavy door open and ushered her outside into the corridor.

 

***

 

An hour later, all the guests had retired or departed and only the Avengers, accompanied by Andrea and Loki, were the only ones left, just like Steve Rogers had said it would happen.

Couches were pulled close together and everyone took a relaxed seat depending on prefernce in company and alcohol consumption. Andrea and Loki settled at the corner of a leather couch, since it felt more comfortable and was further away from the rest of the party.

He sat down with his legs spread wide so that he could accommodate Andrea's weight on his lap steadier. She sat on top of him with her legs hanging to the side and an arm draped over his shoulders so that she could easily maintain her balance.

Time spent with these people involved a lot of drinking, which Valkyrie was big at, a lot of boasting and story telling, which Thor excelled in, and endless chattering at which Tony Stark proved himself the master of his domain. The couple did not participate much in any of the above and even though Andrea was infatuated by the various stories of missions and action against crime and villainy, she found herself too preoccupied in her own thoughts to care comment.

Natasha Romanoff insisted on staring at her and Loki with void eyes, but Andrea couldn't be bothered with that either. Loki's hand was lazily rubbing at the naked small of her back, simultaneously soothing her and mentally dragging her back to that incident in the bathroom. God, that was just an hour ago..., she wondered dreamily.

Was it even right to call it an incident? What was it really? A moment of complete abandon? A happening? An occurrence? It was what she had vowed to herself she'd let him do tonight. A kiss. A kiss would have commenced if those girls hadn't made their appearance.

There had been no fear in her. No apprehension. She craved it, even though she was clueless as to how to perform it, and she would get it even if she had to humiliate herself by asking him for specific instructions.

She blushed at the thought, smiling to herself like a fool in love.

“Are you alright?”, Loki asked her softly, noticing how she coloured and lowered her head.

“I'm fine. A little distracted maybe”, she admitted, turning her embarrassed face towards him.

He leaned forward and bumped his nose against hers, making her giggle, “Hm, what is my sweet, sweet woman thinking about?”.

She squeezed her thighs contently as she shyly confessed, “I was thinking about... before. In the bathroom... What we almost did. Was it... was it really about to happen?”.

His eyes softened to a warm blue, his heart instantly dissolving into puddles of hot tears, “Yes. You wanted it, didn't you?”.

She nodded, closing her eyes to further feel his reverent touch on her back.

“That and... maybe... a bit... more. I want...”.

“What do you want?”, he coaxed, practically hanging from her lips.

“I want to... to try more”.

He smirked, grateful and a bit geedy on the stomach, “Who am I to deny you anything? What do you say we get out of here in a few minutes?”.

“Could we... find some excuse?”, she pleaded, suddenly more than eager to feel the comfort of her sheets. His warm, naked skin against hers. The velvety texture of him. The lower regions where his arousal was constant. She wanted to feel that part of him in the backs of her thighs. To be warmed by the steaming hotness his member always emanated. She wanted to be spooned, naked and unafraid.

She was beginning to zone out everything around her except for the feel of his hand on her waist. She was filtering the talking out, concentrating solely on the sequence of his whisky breath as it hit her cheek.

And then it all crashed and burned, as it often happens in romances, Shakesperean tragedies and perfect, happy moments. The nightmare rapes the dream.

“So, tell us, why did you run away from home?”, Stark addressed her out of nowhere in his usual suave voice that dismissed everything.

Loki watched in gripping worry as the woman in his arms slowly changed, gradually transforming into a completely different character. Under his hand her spine straightened and her eyes lost all softness in a flash. She dragged her gaze away from him and directed it at Stark, who was sat right across her with his arms akimbo and his eyebrows up in his hairline in expectation.

“Excuse me?”, she defended politely whilst withdrawing her arm from around Loki's now tense shoulders.

“Stark, come on, what the hell? Is this really the time?”, Wanda cut in, probably believing that she could somehow save the situation.

“What? It's an honest question”, the billionaire threw his arms out in a gesture of questioning and then turned his attention back to Andrea, “She's got nothing to hide. Right? Andriana?”.

At the sound of the long forgoteen birth name, she blinked hard, as if Stark had thrown a handfull of dirt in her eyes. How the fuck did he know that name? What did he do to get it? Why did he find it?

Loki looked from Stark to the little dancer, observing in dread how one side of her face had hardened and stilled like cooling steel. Her brows were arched into an angry bow that he was unfortunately very familiar with. All the while, within her mind a chaos ruled, consisitng of inarticulate thoughts and a dread... A dread the likes of which he had never sensed coming from her, not even that night at the alley when under attack.

This was a diverse kind of fear that wholly consumed her. A chaotic sensation of stress with terrible visages of a nauseating type of adrenaline. There was nothing poetic about it. Nothing remotely close to being worthy of a more intricate description. What her aura excuded was pure horror and there was nothing he could do to make it stop from reaching him too. It's contagency was impossible to control.

“No one calls me that any more”, she stated in a quieter and more put together voice than Loki had in fact expected, “And I didn't run away. I left my country to study at University. As simple as that”.

“You sure about the name?”, Stark questioned, tilting his head to the side, “Not even mommy calls you that any more? What about dad- oh, shit sorry. Forgot he's not around. Or is he? It's rather inconclusive, isn't it?”.

“Stark, stop this right-”, Thor cut him off, but he was stopped by Andrea.

“No, he's not. Hasn't been for over a year now”.

Loki furrowed his brows in confusion. She had told him the man was alive.

“Yeah, right. Your file said so. His too. From the hospital ward”.

For Loki a better time to abort mission wouldn't have presented itself.

“Andrea, get up, let's leave. Enough of this nonesense”, he suggested, gently taking her wrist in his hand. But she yanked herself away, angrily pressing her lips together.

“And how exactly did you get hold of those files? They're supposed to be in Greece”, she said defiantly, her anger giving way to actual irritation.

“Wasn't that hard. I'm well connected. How old were you when it happened, remind me. Must have been traumatising, but then again... adrenaline kicks in at the most unexpected of moments”.

“I don't know what you're talking about”.

“Yes you do. 17 at the time, perfect daughter, at least to your mother's eyes, almost an adult, no criminal records and then...”, he clicked his fingers together, “... you snap. And violence only bring violence. Isn't that what you always say Vision?”.

“I do not think this is the right moment-”, Vision tried to interfere.

“Oh, come on. This is as good a time as any other. Besides, I don't think our girl here has anything to be sorry for. And she shouldn't of course. That man was a brute. Gotta give it to you kiddo, you've a mean swing”.

Andrea shook her head slowly, her lower lip twisted in anger.

“Daddy slaps up so we slap him harder, but oops. One of you ends up incapacitated for life. You hit hard. Or the circumstances were ideal, who am I to tell”.

An unexpected hiccup escaped her lips, one that she had probably been forcing back for quite a bit and one that was miserably accompanied by the tiniest of tear drops.

“Excuse me”, she gasped out.

In a flurry of motion, she got up, her fists clenched tightly and her face already contorting from the lump quickly forming in her throat, urging the stinging tears out.

“Andrea, love, please, wai- wait”, Loki pleaded, managing to grab her arm as she was getting away, but she only shook her head and yanked herself out of his grasp.

He saw her walk fast towards the corridor they'd been in an hour ago, her dress bellowing after her gracefully. He deduced that the bathroom was her destination, where she could get away from all the attention and shrink into herself, coyly and fearfully.

He raked his hands through his hair in frustration and onimous anger.

 _The bathroom_ , he reminded himself. That's where he'd find her after he was finished with the likes of the people surrounding him.

 

 

 

 


	30. heal (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the God of Mischief has dealt with the Avengers as best as his exhaustion and earnest have allowed, he ventures off to help his beautiful dancer. But in her distress and emotional confusion, she will not fully realise the circumstances and therefore will, unfortunately, make a little mistake but of the utmost importance, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! How are you all? How have you been doing in your life? 
> 
> I feel like I should apologise for the shortness of this chapter, but I couldn't, unfortunately, make it longer and I couldn't connect it to its second part because the themes were different. I also want to apologise for the small heartbreak I am about to subject you to, but trust me this is an important step. I will make it up to you in the second part of the chapter. It's just that, I had to create something that would prove that our couple was somewhat affected by the verbal attack at the party. I mean, it's only logical to me that they couldn't have possibly left completely unscathed. They wouldn't walk out as if nothing had happened. 
> 
> *As always, pictures are borrowed from the web and therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. This particular picture that I have featured is basically a representation of the expression I was trying to create for Loki. In this chapter, he feels kind of betrayed and if you remember, the picture you'll encounter is from the moment where, in Thor Ragnarok, Thor is for once one step ahead of him and zaps him with that handler thing. Loki is a bit confused there, a bit betrayed, a bit surprised and I wanted to communicate that to you somehow. Plus I felt that my description was horrible... so just take the pic, ehehe. 
> 
> A last minute note would be... There is a new fic on my dashboard (smiles evilly). I have been wanting to write that story for quite a while and its character literally would not let me sleep. So I finally managed to find some time and get them out of my head and onto the paper. It's dark. I will not lie to you, and completely different from what you're used from me. I write in a completely different style, more modern, abrupt, to the point, straightforward and I don't really bother incorporating fancy vocabulary. It's an alternating first-person narration between my two main characters, something not many writers choose to do, but I thought I'd try it out. So, if you got time, if you would like, feel free to go and check it out, leave a comment, tell me your thoughts, present me with your ideas of what do you think will happen next, you know, let's give it some love! Let's embrace it! I'd love that, if we could do it, especially because it will not be updated regularly, which disappoints me greatly, but you know, uni!
> 
> Thank you so much for the support! Read on...

He stared at them, each and every one of them with a piercing cold menace in his eyes that cut deep, like sharpened shards of frigid ice. Like the blades his biological father used to use in combat.

His mind was running lawless in paths sprinkled with ideas of what he could do to the lot of them. The tragic pain he could inflict. All the poetic tortures he could force upon them, whatever his heart desired, all could be executed with a snap of his fingers. But in retrospect, this was not the fault of the many. What had just happened had only one guilty, one criminal, one bloody bastard.

His razor-sharp gaze fell upon Stark and lingered, the threatening blackened irises penetrating the exterior of the man's skull. How easily he could chant a spell and break its surface, causing him a terrible hematoma that would slowly guide him into the very gates of hell. Or, he could do the work with his bare hands, oh yes. That would be far more satisfying. Once you've felt what is like to drag the last breath out of a struggling body you never get over it. So beautifully addictive it is...

His blood boiled hot as it pumped angrily within his veins, his temples pounding in the rhythm of a furious song he had forced into muteness for too long.

Not only this travesty had been an indirect insult upon his person, but it had also been a hit on Andrea. A hit, instigated out of sheer pettiness and personal sense of inferiority by a man who didn't know the first thing about either of them. He and his submissive friends could do anything, _anything_ to him. He would bear it. He would diminish it. Laugh at it. Reverse it easily. But if they wounded _her_...

That was the defining moment when his mind changed, his heart softened and the pulsing and pounding of anger came to a pitiful end. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, pain gathering between the sorrowful arch of his brows.

 _Andrea_... The thought of her stressed, crying, shrunk into a tiny ball on a miserable bathroom floor with no one to surround her with the safety and affection she deserved, alone with what he deduced, were the terrible memories of a past not so forgotten.  Τhe bamboozlement of realisation jolted him back to a new reality, stripping his mind off destructive thoughts, menace and promised mayhem.

All these inconclusive pieces of information, her eyes red-rimmed and skittish... _What are you doing?_

_What are you still doing here?_

_This is not where you're supposed to be._

But he couldn't leave yet. He had to at least say something. Something that would communicate even just a small portion of the guilt these people should be feeling.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his wide apart knees, his hand clamping down on his mouth, rubbing at it until it somewhat reddened and started to itch. He nodded, thinking, a step away from erupting into hysterical laughter, but pushing it down in favour of another reaction.

He meant for his voice to come out sterner, perhaps a bit more pissed off. But he was admittedly and visibly tired and some of that exhaustion managed to leak into his volume and speech.

“And to think that she was the one who insisted we come. She told me, nothing will happen to us, handsome. We got to stay strong, we got to prove them wrong, show them who we are. She told me, they can't hurt us. Well, look at her now”.

Thor stood up and paced toward him, shaking his head in denial, “Brother, please, it was not our intention to-”.

“It was not your intention to find everything you could about her and use it against her so you could get to _me_?”, Loki filled in mockingly, “Oh, Thor, you're a good man. I know it and I envy it more often than you can imagine. But for all your goodness... you're a fool. You are all fools. And you...”.

He tipped his head towards Stark, “... since when do you go into the business of using innocent people to prove your point?”.

“She is not innocent”, Stark snorted.

“She is to my eyes”.

“Oh, stop with the drama, will ya? No one can claim innocence in this life and it's best that she finds out now than wait till later on for you to hurt her”.

“Oh, so this was a friendly intervention then? A polite rouse to break us apart and protect her from my corrupt ways, wasn't it?”, Loki mocked, throwing his arms out, opening his chest up in a shockingly magnanimous gesture.

“Could say that. Before you use her to your advantage and _we_ are obliged to pick up the bodies”, Stark quipped annoyingly.

“Use her?”, Loki repeated quietly.

Everyone in the room stilled for a moment. All sets of eyes were on him, but he didn't care, for the word had finally been spoken out loud. He got up slowly, his head bowed in an attempt to conceal the hurt and the pain this truth of Stark's had caused him.

“Use her”, he said again, this time voicing it as a statement full of consternation. He was even quieter this time, “Why? Because I'm the monster you always thought me to be? Incapable of forgiveness? Unable to care, love and be loved?”.

“Probably”, the shorter man supplied immediately, harshly.

Loki had no idea why this felt like a slap across his cheek.

“Tony, that's enough. Can't you for once admit that you were wrong. Man, no one is using anybody”, Captain Rogers supported but went unnoticed.

“Not yet”.

Loki huffed in exasperation, not quite believing his own ears. This was enough. He had had enough of this ludicrous conversation. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with or, frankly, be around these people any longer and so wouldn't subject himself to the torture of having to tolerate them. He would get his woman and he'd leave them to bicker at each other's throats all they wanted. The hell he cared.

He turned around, but as soon as he abandoned the space of the gathered couches, Stark called out to him.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”.

“Home”.

“Home, he says. But you don't really fit anywhere, reindeer games. You are a guest on this planet, a planet that is under _our_ protection and whose people are _our_ responsibility”.

Loki stopped midway to the bathroom and turned around to face that man for one last time. And afterwards, as he had decided two years ago, he would never look back. He would never again return. And this time, he'd keep true to his word.

“I can't be your villain anymore”, he almost barked, glaring daggers at all of them, not just his poor excuse of a nemesis, “I can't do that any more for any of you. I'm tired. I'm old and tired and sick of this. I can't be the one you blame when your petty lives do not go as planned. You are all of you beneath me! And not in terms of title or importance, so do not assume that offended look of lost dogs. You have no idea, not an inch of an idea of the guilt and the pain and the responsibility weighing upon one's shoulders to keep that image up. To keep _your_ lie true. But I _am_ the God of Lies, am I not?”.

He took a couple of steps towards Stark with absolute ferocity and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the floor just a tad to drive his point home. His tone was the epitome of calmness as he threatened a man who suddenly seemed smaller under his strong grip.

“And you... should you ever go near or speak to _my_ woman ever again, I will hunt you down, grab you by those ridiculously short legs of yours and drag you into the firepits that consist my sister's home. You don't wish to be down there all alone with her, I can assure you”.

He threw him away, watching him with disinterest as he stumbled and slightly fell on the floor as if he was the cheapest piece of paper.

“Now, if you'll excuse me...”, he announced, straightening his suit and buttoning the middle button like the gentleman he was, “My beloved is waiting for me”.

He exited the spacious room in a flash, sadistically hoping to have left everybody shocked, confused, ashamed or even a bit flustered, and pushed the right door on the corridor open, revealing a scene that brought a strange, stinging moisture to his eyes, which simultaneously, felt cathartic and much needed.

She was at the bathroom floor like he had dreadfully imagined she would be, hiding under the row of sinks that were lined up against the wall. Her body was heart clenchingly folded in half, her otherwise strong and straight shoulders crouched inwards to her chest. With arms around her knees, balled up into a small shuddering child, she was quietly sobbing, biting back most of the crying's force and gasping out breathlessly that which she could not contain inside. At the tips of her beautiful shoes, a pile of reddened wipes lay, smudged with the bloody colour that previously complimented her plump lips.

It was unbearable to watch her in this state for another minute, thus he shut the door behind him and went to her, kneeling by her side. Once his shadow covered her, she snapped her head up, as if she had just realised that another person was sharing the same space as her.

She was more than taken aback by his presence there. But why? Did she not expect him to show up and save her from her torments? Herself? With lips edged into a pained line from the lumps assaulting and coaxing their way up her throat and an anguished flare of pleading, of begging for something unknown, there was little he could do but set his mind on getting her out of there. Maybe in familiar grounds, he could help soften that beautiful face once more. What he'd give to see her furrow those brows in determination now...

He gently shushed her and placed his hands on either side of her moistened, tear-streaked face. Her tears trickled down his knuckles and wrists, wetting the black fabric of his sleeves. She put up quite the fight as he tried to turn her fully towards him and even brought her hands up from around her knees to push him away. But despite all that he stood still as a rock, _her_ rock, until the short-lived resistance died down, washed out of her and made her limper in his arms.

“Shh, come on, my love, come on”, he whispered in her ear in the softest, most reassuring manner he could perform with his voice.

With a little bit of pulling and a little bit of pushing he got her away from her tucked position under the sinks and into his embrace. His arms went around her shoulders and under her bent knees immediately. Once she felt his heat and hardness of chest muscle, she crouched against him and buried her face inside his suit, eager to hide all the redness and utter humiliation.

“Hold onto me, darling. Can you do that?”, he pleaded tenderly, readying himself to lift her up.

She nodded in silence and tentatively brought her shaking arms up and around his neck and broad shoulders. Another violent gasped out sob urged her to tangle her fingers through his hair, forming little angry fists that pulled and tugged and begged in desperation for a kind of help that her mouth couldn't request.

He got up from the floor, lifting her up smoothly and with unwavering ease and in a flash of alluring green and twinkling gold, they vanished.

In mere seconds they were back at the penthouse, which was dressed in complete darkness except for the Christmas lights he had conjured for her. He decided that the garlands of white, silver and gold offered enough illumination and refrained from turning on any other source of light. Besides, it was not an unlikely scenario that Stark's technology might still be out there. Watching, recording, waiting for a colossal slip up that would never come.

And somehow this possibility birthed another suspicion in his mind.

If the cameras were still outside, who's to say that the earth's mightiest heroes wouldn't come after him? Or his little one? Barging in on their front door when they least expected it? They had managed to uncover a weakness. A shard of Andrea's past that was perhaps so threatening and painful that its recollection had succeeded in chasing her out of the room, away from the gathered team. That could potentially be all they needed in order to make an appearance and break them apart. And he couldn't, for the life of him, allow that to happen. He had failed to protect her tonight. He had seen the signs and ignored them. He would not make the same mistake again.

If the penthouse was, for the time being, compromised, then there was only one place he knew was safe enough to hide for a couple of weeks and lay low until further notice. And that's where he would take her for the rest of the holidays. At least until all this tension had died down. Until she had found the courage in her to tell him everything he ought to know.

He carefully sat her down on the edge of the bed, cautious not to disturb her silent state. She was still holding his neck tightly, as if afraid to let go, but he managed to extricate himself from her firm grip and bring her arms down to her lap. He knelt before her and placed his hands on her knees, clearing his throat in preparation to try and address her,

But a quick glimpse down at her lap notified him that her hands were still trembling like they had in the bathroom. He couldn't talk to her while she was in such a shaken state, but he had no choice. This plan of his required quick execution and smartness. He could only hope there would be time, later on, to sit down with her, take her gently in his arms and console her properly, for she deserved the utmost affection in this hour of need.

He caught her hands, trying to steady them, and spoke, “Andrea, my love, my darling, my little dancer...”.

He placed soft kisses upon her knuckles, “I need you to be brave for just a little bit longer. Can you do that for me, my beloved?”.

She sniffed back some tears and nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching downwards into a sad pout. He didn't want to be so straightforward with her, so abrupt, especially after the emotional turmoil she had undergone, but he gathered his courage and did what he had to do.

“That's my woman. My brave, beautiful woman. Now now, I need you to listen to me very carefully and do as I instruct, alright? We'll have plenty of time for explanations later on, but now I need you to do exactly as I say”.

She nodded again, her skittish eyes blinking away more hot tears that managed to escape and leave wet trails down her cheeks.

“I want you to go into the closet and pack a bag with everything you think you'll need for the rest of-”.

But he didn't get to finish his sentence, for her eyes snapped up to meet his. Blurry, red and hurt, as they appeared to be, they felt like a drill penetrating his skin, reaching deep into his skull to crack the bone and angrily attack the brain. He found himself in confusion over why she looked at him like that. So full of pain and restrained torment reflecting in that vibrant green gaze.

She looked down to her hands and furrowed her brows slowly as if she was banging her head against an imaginary wall trying to figure out why they were gently held by him. She started retracting them, shaking her head in disbelief, new tears springing from her eyes. Little crystal omens of her toxic thoughts.

“You... you're se-sending me away...”, she choked out, violent sobs forcing her shoulders to haunch, “You're sending me away... no... no, Loki... don't... please”.

His stomach fell down to his guts, an angry rush of heat ascending his neck and scalp. A stab through the heart... That was what she was delivering...

“Please... don't... don't send me away. I'll... I'll do anything. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. I'll do anything you say, I promise I will. Just... don't...”, she stuttered through heart-stopping sobs, snatching her hands completely away. She covered her upper body protectively and looked him straight in the eye.

He knew he should say something. Assure her immediately otherwise. Tell her that she misunderstood. But the words wouldn't come out. Her mewling and pleas were steadily breaking him bit by bit, inch of damaged flesh by inch of damaged flesh... and he just stood there. Still and passive like a statue, numbly taking in her shudders and sobs and begging not to dismiss her from his life,

“I'll do anything you say... anything... please don't send me away... I have nowhere else to go...”.

He knew he should be acting. He knew he should be putting her worries and doubts at ease, but no matter how much he tried to shake himself out of the numbness, he still couldn't summon the right words that would comfort her.

“Loki... please, say something...”.

And when he finally found the strength to listen to the last of the pleading and open his mouth... he said the wrong thing.

“The penthouse will not be safe for a couple of weeks, at best, so we're going away for a few days. Pack a bag with everything you think you'll need for the rest of the holidays. Take warm clothes with you and your blanket, if you wish. It will be cold up north and there's a chance that we might get snowed in”.

He got up from his kneeling position and turned away from her, adding, “But that's exactly what we need to cover our tracks”.

He began pacing towards the closet to hastily prepare a couple of things for himself. The rest he could summon with magic.

And when her time came to speak, she said the wrong thing too, too ashamed of herself, too stunned by the revelation of the actual truth to crawl down on all fours and beg for forgiveness. Loki got angry because of one thing and perhaps one thing only. And she had just killed him by doing it.

“What... what about my homework?”, she asked, turning away from him so that she could bite her lip freely without him seeing how she made it bleed. She deserved it anyway.

He didn't stop walking as he addressed her curtly, “There's signal where we're going. You can take it with you. Your laptop should work just fine”.

“And where... where's that?”, she tremulously voiced, pressing her lips together to choke down the new lumps under formation.

“Inverness”, he stated sternly, before slamming the closet door shut.

 

_to be continued ..._

 

 


	31. heal (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safely away from civilization and the prying eyes of the Avengers, Andrea and Loki slowly, painfully and intimately enter the next phase in their unbreakable relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!! I'm so sorry about the tardiness! I've left you without a chapter for far too long, I know I know but it couldn't be helped I'm afraid. I don't even have much time to breathe these days, to be honest with you, and my first proper Uni assignment is approaching and seriously I don't know what the hell to do with it, how to work it at all. Can't I just write about Andrea and Loki's extensive character development? They are certainly far more interesting than Austen's ''Emma'', alright? And that angsty girl, Evelina, and that prostitute, Moll. I just kind of gave you an insight into the books they've assigned me to read. Classics all of them and so far I like none. I mean, they all got something from which you can learn and they give a beautifully crafted insight into femininity in the 18th century but cooomeeee onnn, boriiing! The last one for this trimester is the bloody Mayor of bloody Casterbridge which I hope, I hope and pray, will be better. Anyway. Back to the highly anticipated chapter. I'm expecting you'll get butterflies in your stomach from this one. I certainly did! 
> 
> **As always, pictures are borrowed from the web and therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. Thank you very much. 
> 
> Have a good day, a good read, throw in a couple of orgasms if you can and above all, stay safe! Love you!

_Inverness, 3:15 in the early morning_...

 

 

“Thank you for this, Alejandro”, Loki said as he took the key from the Italian man's hand, “I'm in your debt”.

The man pushed the door open and waved them inside the delicious warmth of the little cabin.

 

“Just pay what you promised and we're even”, he shrugged and chuckled lightly.

“Of that, rest assured”, Loki vowed and handed him a thick envelope filled with Scottish banknotes that he had magicked into existence just before their teleportation here.

They were in Inverness, had departed strictly half an hour after their last teleportation at the penthouse. Now they stood at the doorstep of their own private little cabin in the woods, located a few good miles away from the city and just at the shores of Loch Ness. If one went around the little wooden accommodation they would find a small, abrupt staircase, curved into the steep cliff that led to the mythical lake and which gave you the chance to discover for yourself if the monstrous beast truly resided at the watery depths. By the blackness of the night though, such thoughts and ideas carried an unpleasant chill down her spine.

Alejandro, a close friend of Mrs Granzioni, whom Loki had met only once, back when he was searching for a place to live in Edinburgh, had agreed on lending them this cabin that he owned for as long as they wanted. For the right price of course. And since Loki had no issue meeting any kind of price and any sum at all, the opportunity to easily accomplish his plan had been presented. And he had grabbed it without a second thought.

As he had explained before they left, he couldn't risk a confrontation, a very possible one, on the penthouse's territory. The Avengers had no idea about the cabin up north by the lake so there was no chance they would discover both of their tracks. Even if they walked into the penthouse there was no clue to betray their location. He had promised they would be safe here and so they would. There was not a single doubt in Andrea's mind.

“I've equipped this place with everything you might need for the first few days, but I suggest that you do venture down to the city soon for more. Storms in these lands are unpredictable. Some light snow will begin tomorrow and who knows? By the next nightfall we might be snowed in”, Alejandro kindly warned as the couple stepped inside with their suitcases at hand. They set them down by the door and shrugged out of their heavy winter coats. Andrea wiped some flakes off hers before hanging it next to a built-in heater.

Randomly she noted how right the man was about the climate. From the little information, she had stored in her mind about the northern regions of Scotland she knew that the weather was unsteady, at best. A taxi driver had once told her that here they could have all weather phenomena in the duration of a single day. Back then, she had thought he was just trying to show off and promote his country, but after having lived in the city for more than three months, she had pressed her lips together many a time and decided that she stood corrected. Inverness was further up north, close, if not in, to the Scottish Highlands and thus, unpredictability increased immensely. Winters could get rough and dangerous if one was not familiar with the land's quirks and right now she felt like the tourist who behaves as if the piercing cold doesn't even affect them. Fish out of the water.

“Will do, thank you”, Loki agreed and shook the man's hand in imminent goodbye.

“Alright. Have a nice stay then”, Alejandro concluded and then turned towards Andrea.

He tipped his head in salute, “Miss”.

She wanted to say goodbye too, but she was overly hesitant and at the moment too scared to speak. She found herself unable to utter even a single word of farewell out loud, so she toothlessly smiled at the man before he took his leave.

When the door closed behind him and she was left alone with her moderately pissed off God, she could swear a shiver overtook her. There was something about the screeching sound of the door hinges that felt oddly final. Like some sort of chapter was closing in tears and a new one was about to be written with the ink of happiness. Such a hopeful thought to have. But how could it be even remotely realistic? How? After all that had taken place tonight and all the things that should have happened, but didn't.

She bowed her head and swallowed a fresh bile of tears that were stubbornly urging her to squeak pitifully and moved away from her still position to take a shy look around, take in her new surroundings, try to make herself at home. This place was quite different than the luxurious penthouse she had been spoilt in. This setting she was finding herself in though could only be described as a pure 'love nest', which both excited and saddened her.

The interior of the cabin exuded an enveloping warmth that was difficult not to feel deep in the soul, despite the fact that it wasn't home. It was built with gigantic logs, occasionally lamented wood making a small appearance here and there, and heavy greyish stones that looked like the archaic materials of a mythical giant's house. There were many lights scattered all around in the form of candles, lamps and wall settings, but right now it was dimly lit. Andrea preferred it that way. The absence of intense, artificial, cold and white lighting was turning her surroundings into some kind of sketch from a fairytale book since the yellowish rays of only a few working lamps fell onto the furniture like the light of an afternoon sun. The fireplace, in front of the bed, was also on, courtesy of Alejandro, who had come in at the last minute to prepare everything for their arrival.

The structure of the place was long and open plan, so the living room, the bedroom and the kitchen shared the same space. The only exception posed the bathroom, which was shielded away behind a rough looking door at the far back of the cabin. She secretly wished she was brave enough to go past Loki and have a peek inside it, but she couldn't get her legs moving. She simply stood immobile and silent. Her reasons for feeling this shy were none existent, her every right to wish for familiarisation with the new lodgings, clear and understandable. But despite all that... she couldn't find the courage and it was as irritating as it was tiring.

 

Not knowing what else to do with herself, she took a seat at the very comfortable couch, as she realised after sitting her jelly bum down, and bent over to unzip her leather riding boots. She set the shoes aside and wiggled her toes on the Persian red rag, relishing in its softness and warmth. It served as some sort of sweet consolation if she had to be honest. Yet even its tactile-ness as an act was not enough to alleviate her from the guilt that weighed upon her shoulders nor was a sufficient feeling able to lighten the heaviness in her heart.

She raised her eyes cautiously, but not her head, to look at him wearily. He had freed himself from his shoes as well as his coat and suit and was now standing tall, with his back to her, in his button-down shirt and matching black trousers.

Deep down she hoped that he would stay like that for there was not an ounce of bravery in her to bear his face on her person. Not after that horrible behaviour of hers at the penthouse. Not after that same, otherworldly beautiful face had blanked out and hardened in evident hurt. Those bloody mumblings that had so uncontrollably escaped from her mouth were to blame of course. Unfortunately for her though, her wishes were not answered, for at the next minute, he turned and although he didn't look at her directly, she sensed his dark presence looming over her like the shadow of a punishment yet to be administered.

He didn't regard her in any way, simply unbuttoned his shirt and untucked it from within the trousers. When he reached the bottom, he took it off smoothly and tossed it onto the wooden rocking chair across from her. Bare from the waist up as he was now, with the low light defining his chiselled abs and toned to perfection obliques, he looked every bit the absolute specimen that got women licking their lips and spreading their legs within a snap of fingers. She got dizzy even at the thought of it and at the same time, she felt ashamed that her mind was wandering down such paths under the light of the recent events and the heaviness of the atmosphere.

The sound of him unbuckling his belt reached her ears then and painfully dragged her by the roots of her hair back to reality. As soon as the buckle was undone, he grabbed one edge of the item and slipped it abruptly out of its little confines, round his narrow, strong pelvis. He did it with such mastered force that the belt hissed as it passed through the loops of the trousers, whipping the air and forcing Andrea to haunch her shoulders and rub her thighs together in a defensive need to protect what was left of her honour and dignity. For some reason, this little exhibition of the belt's strength rose an odd kind of fear inside her, a fear that could be described more as primal desire than the actual dread of consequence.

That sound, this man, the leather belt between them...

She furrowed her brows in a mixture of concern and confusion when she saw that he was still holding it. Was he going to...? No, he wouldn't... he couldn't... he wasn't like that, was he? Was there any chance that he was more upset than he actually looked? Would he be so brutal so as to take out his frustration on her with that devilish thing in his hand? Would that be... abuse or... a lesson? No... no, he wasn't like that...

Suddenly shaken out of this rather twisted fantasy she was by the loud thump of the belt hitting the hardness of the wooden floor. She would lie if she said that sadness did not overtake her. The signal had been given that he had no intention of using it. But why? She would have preferred the wrath of his hand rather than this toxic silence that poisoned the air they breathed and the sighs they released. But she couldn't speak. She couldn't articulate such thoughts to him. She believed, rightly or falsely, that if she dared say such a thing he would think her nothing but a masochistic whore that couldn't wrap her mind around what productive dialogue meant.

He very own beliefs of herself combined with these new darker, baser visages of her nature brought a rosiness to her cheeks and flashed new salty tears from her eyes. Fidgeting with her heavy sweater, she brought her knees up to her chest, balancing the soles of her feet at the couch's edge, anxiously biting at her lip and looking towards every other direction but his...

“Are you alright?”, he suddenly asked her in a voice tired and a tone mellow and light like the yellowishness of the cabin. He sounded ready to collapse.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him as he leaned against the stone wall. He brought one of his hands up to rub at his jaw and lips and then to rub into his eyelids as if wanting to wipe away the exhaustion. Then his eyes fell on her, but she dragged hers away quickly, not needing him to witness how her usually bright green globes were starting to redden and sting.

She only nodded and rested her chin on a knee, tightening her arms around her calf bones in a desperate attempt to squeeze herself back into wholesomeness.

She decided she'd leave him alone tonight, well, the remaining hours of the morning at least. She would conveniently remove herself from his way and give him the chance to find some peace and to sort out his own thoughts after the terrible doubts and the emotional turmoil she had caused him. Taking care of himself first, for once, could only work to his benefit, and so she would give him that. She owed it to him. Her whiny and insecure roller coaster of a heart was the last thing he would want to deal with right now. This space was far smaller so she wouldn't be able to easily disappear, but she would try her best. For him...

“We should get some sleep”, he announced quietly, “We've been up for hours”.

He turned his back then and headed towards the bed. She was convinced she wouldn't get a better chance than this to go to the bathroom and change for sleep, so she took it immediately.

She got up, as quiet as a mouse, and set direction towards the door at the far back. On her way there, she grabbed his black shirt from the chair and pressed it against herself needfully. She passed him by without even a glance and hurriedly hid behind the bathroom door. Turning all the lights, she looked down to the piece of clothing in her hands.

She brought it up to her face and breathed his lingering smell in, a few tears trickling down her cheeks at the realisation that she wouldn't have him tonight. She wouldn't sleep tucked against him, no, but she was too selfish to completely let go. His shirt would have to do, at least for the time being. Pretty much like his warm sweater had once upon a time.

She put it down next to the sink and undressed quickly until she was down to the sole elastic band that kept her curls up into a messy bun. She put on the shirt in a haste, eager to cover her nakedness while cursing herself for forgetting to retrieve panties from her suitcase. The pair she had just discarded was all wet and she didn't feel particularly inclined to put it back on. It didn't much matter though since they would sleep separately. There was nothing she needed to conceal from the eyes of the couch and besides, his shirt was long enough to cover her a bit past the pelvis.

After haphazardly folding her jeans and sweater for later use, she turned the knob on the door and willed herself, body and mind, to step outside. Her eyes fell on him as she began to walk towards the front of the cabin where her sleeping arrangements awaited. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, as she observed, with his head bowed in deep scepticism and his elbows stationed atop his knees. If she walked slowly and quietly enough he would perhaps let her pass without raising his head. At least that was the most hopeful thought she could nurture, taking the circumstances into consideration.

She was gripping at her clothes for dear life as she forced her legs into a slow pace but before she knew what hit her, her curiosity got the better of her and she looked. Damn her, she looked. She shifted her gaze towards him for just a second only to dreadfully realise that he was staring at her intensely, that fiery green in his eyes challenging the calmness and exhaustion of the blue.

She looked away immediately, fixing her gaze on her moving feet, but as she kept walking his ceaseless, piercing stare burned holes into her back, setting what little clothing she had afire and baring her down to nothing but shame, guilt and wetness.

Dumbing her clothes onto the coffee table and dragging her black, furry blanket from the armrest of the couch she flopped down ungracefully and covered herself up to the eyebrows, hiding away from him, the world, the lights, Inverness, the world itself. Making herself disappear like she was supposed to.

That was until he spoke and ruined her valiant effort.

“Andrea...”.

_No, no, no, no, please, let it go. Just go to sleep. Let it go..._

“Are you afraid of me?”.

 _Don't do this, please_ , she silently begged, swallowing down thick tears. One though managed to slip and slide down her cheek, stubbornly disobeying her wishes.

This wasn't about her, she knew. She was convinced. This was for him. She was doing this for him. So that he could have time to make up his mind so that he could have some private space.

“Have I done something that scared you?”, he phrased differently, his eyes still glued to her crouched form on the couch.

There was no reply. Not because she didn't know what to say, but because she was terrified of the sound of her own voice, a fact that was only fortified by her shy nature.

“Answer me”, he demanded softly, not the slightest bit of edge coating his voice. That was the hardest part. That he wasn't even letting his internal frustration reach her. He was keeping it all inside, because of her.

“Have I hurt you?”.

A hiccup choked her, its pathetic sound coating the silent walls of the still cabin.

“No”, she managed to say but it was so quiet, quieter than a whisper.

“Then come to me”, he suggested gently.

“No”, she sobbed out, clutching at her stomach tightly in order to temper down that sinking feeling, that sweet doom, the giddy heaviness that warmed her whole existence. That damned shuddering fall of her heart down to her guts.

“Then you're giving me no choice but to come to you”.

She heard the bed springs creak. Light, bare footsteps upon the squeaky floor. A freakishly hot flash ascended her spine and she brought her knees further up against her chest. A shadow, tall and menacing loomed over her, she knew, but she closed her eyes and tried to avoid it.

But then she sensed the shadow cresting away, like a wave, and the floor squeaked harder and her breath caught in her throat as she felt a mild dip on the couch, somewhere close to her foot.

And then another slight dip on the soft cushion and the blanket was pulled back to reveal that foot of hers that was positioned further down than the other, absently sticking out, unaware of the treatment it was about to receive.

Her heart exploded fervently, her throat clogging violently with held back sobs and half breaths, when his hand, ever so tenderly, wrapped around her limp ankle and gently pulled it towards him. Being too exhausted and scared to put up a fight and snatch it back, she lay perfectly still and tried to ignore the anticipation boiling in her gut over his next actions.

Her fingers were tremling and she was beginning to get really cold, the agony of the moment so self consuming that she couldn't even rub her hands together to warm herself and then... a light brush of his hot, almost steamy lips over her ankle that tranformed into a tender kiss upon that same fragile bone, while his thumb was soothingly rubbing at the inner spot, where the set of intricate nerves and skin were far more sensitive...

His lips didn't stray from her foot as he asked, solemnly and with no urgency, “Are words difficult right now, darling?”.

A gush of quivering tears ran down her cheeks, wetting the cushion she was using as a pillow.

“Ye- yes”.

She was slowly but steadily giving into the vortex of sensation and grief, her tension guiltily melting away with each tear that escaped her eye. Each wet trail was a plea for him to get up and leave... or a desperate cry for him to stay and help...

His hand ascended further up and reassuringly caught the tense muscle of her calf as his lips were occupied otherwise. He kissed his way up, from ankle to back of the knee and down again, completely ignoring her cries and apprehension. The thought that he was doing it on purpose crossed her mind but didn't linger long. She was too far gone into her own emotional burden to care what commenced inside his head.

“Alright”, he said between kisses, “Alright”.

Ankle again and then the base of the calf bone. A little gasp escaped her.

“Alright, love, hush now”.

“N- no...”.

His lips reverently pressed down on the centre of her ample flesh, wetting the back of her calf with mild salivation. Another kiss and then he licked the spot, gently sucking it into his mouth and then letting it free with a light smooch.

“Hush... I shall try to make it easier...”.

With the flat of his tongue, he lavished many a kissed spots, over and over, as if repeating vows she had forgotten.

“Pl... please...”.

He fisted his other hand on the blanket and began bunching it upwards as he went, massaging, kneading the flesh, until her thigh came into view, offering a new land to be conquered. A new place to lay tiny kisses upon...

“Stop...”.

Back of the knee... she squirmed a little, ticklish as she was, but he kept her in place.

Front of the knee and his hand was greedily skimming over her outer thigh. She breathed audibly and brought her hand up to clamp it down her mouth. She was at a loss of what to do. Of what to think. Of how to react. Her body wasn't obeying her. It was obeying him. His mouth, his hand, his hair that tickled her skin as he kissed and kissed and kissed on... As he climbed her like a tree...

By the time the kisses stopped she was convinced the couch was sufficiently baptised with her juices. Another dip on the couch, much heavier. A knee, she figured out. And then his curious head was finding its way under the protection of her blanket until with devious moves and evil workings, his whole body ended up on the couch, squeezing her own almost flat against the backrest. The blanket had been drawn up around her hips, so he made quick work of dragging it back down to cover both their bodies.

His expert hand sneaked underneath and forced her still bent knee to straighten, which gave them more space on the considerably small couch. At least small for whatever his intentions were...

“Please...”, she begged again although the reasons why had been blurred in the fuzzy ballroom of her mind.

He pressed himself against her with the utmost tenderness and care, making her feel all the more guilty about her insolent stance. The warmth of his chest got so temptinly glued upon her back, like honey sticks to fingers. She trembled against him and not knowing what else to do she closed her eyes again and tried to erase his soothing and desired presence. But he obliterated all her efforts when his wandering hand found her thigh and his thumb busied itself with rubbing small, relaxing circles over the expanse of her now over heated skin . She was lulled back to the reality of him and lost all hopes thereof of putting distance between them. Distance she had somehow convinced herself they needed.

The next thing she felt had her bursting out in new waves of tears for his hand ceased all too quickly massaging her thigh and travelled downwards, gathering the shirt she wore as it went. Only too late she remembered her bareness down there...

Urgently, the hand gripping her stomach snapped down to cover her womanhood, an act which she fortified by squeezing her thighs together, sealing them against his further intrusions. He surely saw what she did but gave no voice to it. Instead, he raked his wandering hand over her thigh once more, as if he was trying to warm her, and then continued up. It passed by her arse cheek, her protruding hipbone, the very bent of her delicate waist and then dipped down to her stomach, instantly taking away the protection of the black shirt. She might as well have been naked.

A temulous gasp tore its way out of her throat that was half muffled by the pressure of her face against the couch cushion. Desperately she dag her fingers deeper around her mouth to stiffle any other attempts of her body to take a breath and give in.

What was he doing? What did he want? Why was he being like this?

He was bringing such comfort to her tortured mind that all she craved to do was let go against him. Breathe. Relax. Welcome the warmth he created with the friction of his big, manly hands. Tell him she was sorry. Perhaps turn around and seal her lips upon his, establishing the promise of never again acting like this. But she was worthy of none of those things. The only thing that stood a barrier between them was the tenseness of her body, indeed, and she would keep true to that, true and constant. It was the only thing that tethered her to guilt and shame of how she had behaved.

Stark, the party, her father, the assumption that Loki would leave her at the first difficulty, an assumption which did him no justice at all... It was all her fault. Why should he suffer for it?

And yet she had forgot what a master strategist her God was and that he knew exactly how to disarm any resistant victims. He took away her last resolve with the trembling sound of his hot breath and the slow, intimate massage his hand so gently bestowed on her tight stomach and belly, turning both in no time into jelly. It was that easy to render her raw. That easy to control her though not deprive her of choice.

He nuzzled his nose between her haunched shoulder and tear streaked neck, peppering her skin with light kisses whose almost inaudible smooching, wet sound was enough to shutter her heart. His hair, like silk, must have been falling over his sharp cheeks for their edges caressed her softly, raising goosebumps all over her body. This hurricane of emotion... how would she ever get out of it? Did she... want to get out of it?

His melifluous voice, whispered in her ear like a distant mutter from another world, was what finally made her remove her hand from her mouth and gasp out for air, moaning through chokes and even more tears.

“Why are you crying Andrea?”.

She shuddered, shoulders shaking violently as her whole brain ached with desire of how he uttered her name...

“Am I hurting you in any way?”, he proceeded gently, “If I am, I need to know. You know I do”.

In the little free space she had, she shook her head negatively and somehow, without fully realising it, she slightly wiggled closer to him, her mind and rationality pulling her one way and her need for contact, skin and comfort, the other.

“Did I do anything else tonight that might have upsetted you? That might have hurt you?”, he asked quietly, “Love?”.

Again, she shook her head.

“Then why aren't you in our bed, where you belong?”.

He placed a little kiss under her ear, where it tickled her and she swore if she was in better spirits, she would have giggled her ususal school girl giggle.

Swallowing thickly, she saw no other route of escape than answering honestly.

“Be... because... it was  _I_  that... that... hurt you...”, she paused for a bit, trying to form a proper sentence in her mind before spilling it out, but all she managed was a weird mixture of words and apologies, “I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry... please... just... Stark, the party, what I said... I didn't mean it... I promise I didn't... I-”.

He shushed her with such softness that she could feel new tears coming up. Snaking his other arm under her neck, he brought it up around her upper body and drew her closer, inhaling her scent so deeply, taking that aroma of her hair so far down into his lungs that he felt ready to burst. His hand locked on her shoulder, trapping her completely in his eternally warm embrace.

“I shouldn't have said that... it... it... was wrong and my... mind... my father... you have to know what happened, but I... I... I can't-”.

“Shh”, he soothed again, finally a little more able to understand the onslaught going on in her mind.

“I hurt you”, she repeated, her tears finally draining but her now thin and broken voice so full of anguish, “I hurt you... I saw it...”.

“You did”, he whispered, although his tone bore not even a small amount of accusation, “You did, but it wasn't your fault...”.

“What? What... what are you saying?”, she choked out, more confused than ever. His statement had touched her so very differently for instead of lifting a great weight off her shoulders, it actually increased the already existing one, “What? Why... why aren't you mad? Why...”.

“I am not mad. I cannot be mad. I cannot force myself to stay mad, little dancer. Not where you're concerned”, he rasped and gripped her tighter, almost crushing her lungs. Oh, how easily she could fall in love with that feeling...

“But you... you left... you slammed the door and you... you... you, I thought...”.

“Thought what?”.

“That you hated me. That you... you were... I hurt you and you... you slammed the door... why did you-”.

“Why? Because I allowed the dreadful feeling of disappointment at myself to take root inside while I should have been doing my best, my properest to comfort you. To reassure you that I am not going anywhere, you foolish, foolish woman”, he stated, punctuating each word with a light shake on her trapped shouders, “I'm not going anywhere, anywhere without you. Because Andrea, what you need to understand and never ever dream of forgetting is that wherever your body goes, I go. Wherever your pretty mind wanders to, mine will as well. I failed to communicate that to you and so I got pissed at my own self”, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her wet cheek with such firmness and passion that it would be inconcivable not to believe him, “You are a piece of me that if played with, moved or worse, extricated... I fear will mean my death”.

It took her a moment to compose herself, well any woman would need that time really, after confessions like these, and when she thought herself ready to utter naught but a few unintelligable words, she sniffed and wiggled closer to him and his unquestionable heat and let her mind express what it truly wanted.

“You say those things... but... but I hurt you... you shouldn't... you shouldn't be nice to me...”.

“And what would you have me do? Punish you for it? Haven't we both suffered enough from all the silence and the quiet tension?”.

“Yes... yeah, but...”.

“But what?”.

“I don't know... do something... hurt me back... because...  _I_  did...”.

At that he chuckled, a heart warming sound that brought a strange lop sided grin on her face.

“Oh, little dancer. Hurt me all you want. I'll keep coming back for more...”.

“Then you're stupid”, she gasped out, sniffing hard to gather back the mucus that was running from her nose.

He nudged her with his cheek, delighted that she had found some of her humour, although he knew all too well that they still had a long way towards absolution, “I prefer the term 'dedicated to masochism'”.

Andrea giggled through tears, tears that had turned joyful just by the feel of him against her, the tactile knowledge that he wasn't angry with her.

“Will you... will you go to your bed now?”, she tested, biting her lip.

Her hands came up tentatively, abandoning her womanhood and leaving it bare and unprotected against him, to cling wantonly onto his strong forearm. The veins under the pressure of her fingertips felt heavenly, like little cushions she could poke to relieve tension. His skin, its smell, its spicy smell, how she loved it. She nudged her nose against his pale complexion and took the deepest breath she had ever taken...

“Such a forgetful little thing you are”, Loki cajoled in the meantime whilst pushing his knee between her pressed together thighs, parting her long legs to nestle one of his own in between.

He did not expect it but her muscles gave way and welcomed him in with no inkling of hesitation. As soon as he situated himself, she coyly ground down on his thigh, her dripping pussy soaking his pants through. A wide smirk appeared on his face as he realised.  _One step closer. Another barrier down. Another inhibition exstinguished._

“My bed is where you are”, he supplied with a good night kiss on her heated cheek.

 

***

 

Loki awoke some time during... what was it really? Day, night, late afternoon? He couldn't exactly determine. The shutters were closed, the curtains not pulled and the cosy cabin was illuminated only by the quiet rasp of the fire and the few lamps that were on.

Slightly raising his head from the hard armrest of the couch he blinked down hard at the little dancer's form, crouched and snuggled against him, her exhaustion clearly displayed on her halp open mouth and limp fingers, fingers that had been digging into his forearm just a few hours ago like hooks.

He carefully withdrew his arm from under her head, making sure that despite its absence she was still comfortably placed, gently laying on the soft cushion. His own head he supported on the now free hand. From this higher position, he inspected her closely as she slept peacefully, unaware of all else apart from the wandering dreams in the land of unconsciousness.

As he observed every aspect of her face his lips stretched into a wide grin. Her rosy cheeks, freshly heated from the combined warmth of their bodies, her plump dewy lips from which tired breaths were coming out, her surprisingly soft brow, oh how lovely and unworried she looked when she didn't furrow it. Her delicate fingers, bundled half under the blanket, stood curled and slightly pinky, still a bit moist from the shedding of many unessecary tears.

“So beautiful...”, he whispered to himself in a reminder that she was real and positively  _his_  to hold and forever cherish.

His hand, the one placed flat on her stomach was painfully itching to explore her, naked as she was, under her flimsy covers. He had been given permission, even though silently and very hesitantly to touch her some hours ago. She had pleaded no, but had simultaneously pushed her body towards him. She had cried, but when her hand had clamped down on her mouth to stiffle the sounds, he was poisitive he had heard a moan or two, apart from gasping and a great need for breath. And all had been clear, his explanations voiced and her tormented heart put at some kind of ease. She had rubbed herself against his thighs eagerly, accepting the gifts of warmth and comforting pleasure whilst withdrawing that hand of hers which had been so intent on guarding what she held sacred. Her very womanhood. She had slept and was still sleeping like a baby in his arms with no want for anything or care in the whole damn world.

His hand started drawing random circles on her soft skin...

But all that had taken place while her teary eyes had been wide open and whilst her heart had been beating fast and hard. Now she lay peacefully dormant. Blissfully unaware of what was going on in his own mind. Of how close his fingertips were to her flat and still unteased nipple.

If he touched her, if he so much as let the pads of his fingers hover over the soft bud, what would that make him? And even worse, what if she woke up to him touching her like that?

She would think it preposterous. A violation of her privacy. A cruelty committed against her youth and inexperience. Rape... or mainly, actions leading to it...

But for all his resolve and good intent, he couldn't find it in him to put this need of his to sleep, this sick urge to touch her while she lay so pliant and ripe for the taking.

At least his fingers had, at some point during the night, warmed up, either because she was keeping him like that, hot and secure with her own body, or because he might have changed his temperature by instinct to accommodate her need for quiet cuddling. So thankfully, the diffrence in Celcius degrees was none existent and wouldn't therefore be the reason to wake her up. At least, not at first.

He took a deep breath, tried to talk himself out of it a couple of times before he would actually do it, and yet before he had so much of an inkling of what possessed him, the pad of his middle finger was lightly caressing her heated bud. In a flash it perked up to attention, blooming like a lotus flower, at least in his mind's eye for he couldn't actually see through the black fabric she wore. But he imagined a divine transformation, an immediate colouring, a process from a pearl pink, soft and plump, to a reddish pink, hard and begging to be cooled down as it pulsed with blood and pure heat.

“Fuck woman...”, he cursed in sheer, undulterated longing as he continued to circle the nipple.

_So responsive... so beautiful..._

As if his thoughts had been shouted out loud instead of whispered within his mind, the little dancer stirred and wiggled her bum closer to him, sighing the most sharp contented sigh imaginable.

For just a moment he froze, his suspicious gut telling him that she was already awake and very much aware of what was being done to her. Still... he couldn't take any risks and so in a flash withdrew his hand from under her shirt, smiling to himself as he thought about all the wicked, wicked things they could do together, with each other, to each other, if only she could place her ultimate trust in him. The trust of her body, the trust of her mind...

She  _had_ to a grand extend done so in earlier hours, back at the party, at that bathroom. But that trust, that sweet abandon that had consumed her, this no longer clandenstine desire to feel him, so savagely intimate and pure, since he hadn't even had to ask before he'd caught her earlobe between his teeth and had her moaning, all that had evaporated entirely after Stark's false pretenses of heroism. He had to get in the way and ruin this for them and Loki couldn't help but take some of the responsibility for it upon his heavy shoulders. How could he not actually? He had seen the signs and had still ignored them in favour of discovering supposedly deeper truths and as a result, things backfired and blew at his face. More at Andrea's than his, to be sure.

He would have kissed her... he would have... he had been so close... they had been one breath away... one sigh away... one sweet slide and glide apart. Perhaps she would have even been willing to be shown much much more, but alas...

Not in the mood to keep torturing himself with these needs, these needs that should have been sated but had not, that tension that should have been resolved but still lingered, he got up from the couch as quiet as a cat and decided on a long shower. Hot water was his healer, his escape, the completion of his one sided temperature. The only element that aliviated him from his own thoughts and made the weight he bore lighther.

He turned the water on and gave it a couple of minutes to run hot as he took off his expensive pants and threw them somewhere on the tiled floor.

This shower set wasn't as spacious, open and luxurious as his own back home, but its smaller size could definitely maintain the lovely, blinding steams for that much longer. What else could he ask for now...

 

 

***

 

Andrea fully arose from her scorching position on the couch not long after the hissing sound of the water had begun echoing all around her.

As she straightened her still weary body and rubbed at her eyes with the slowness of a proper sloth she couldn't help but wonder if Loki had left the bathroom door open. A look towards the far back of the cabin informed her that he had. Typical. That man had nought but a miniscule notion of privacy.

She hefted her heavy legs off the couch and got up unsteadily, abandoning the luscious warmth of her favourite blanket. It was abrupt and surprising to feel so, but she instantly went cold and so wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down her shoulders to create some fictitious warmth once more.

A few steps further into the cabin and she bitterly reached the bed she had refused to sleep in last night. Running an almost hesitant hand over its neat and simple linens and soft quilts she found herself regretting the foolish decision.

_The foolish decision_ , she repeated, slowly closing her eyes, biting at her lip in sheer annoyance at herself. Her entire face began to burn up on its own accord at the remembrance of last night's behaviour, of the stupid and immature tantrum she had thrown.

How easily she could have just spilt the words out to apologise, explain her position and emotion and make amends but no... she had to bring out the stubborn child in her. How fairly she could have aided in the sorting out of a misunderstanding that had clearly affected deeply both of them and yet... she had only cried on pathetic tears of despair and refused to open her god damned mouth.

But oh, how effortlessly and lovingly had he taken her, claimed her back into his arms, as only gentle lovers do, like other halves. How selflessly had he acted about the matter, asserting control, assuming some of the burdens but at the same time allocating her the responsibility she had to take but with no accusatory tones and chidings. He didn't blame her for breaking his spirit, for ruining his emotional world with her distrust and lack of rationality. He had simply pointed out the fault and left it at that...

How physical he had been too... How he had put his hands on her so tenderly but with a tempered demanding essence that her soul was set afire just by thinking back on it. If his hands had controlled her, then his lips, his tiny kisses had melted her and his rock hard body had subdued not her as a person, but the unintelligible bubbling up of emotion that her brain had seemed inclined to cloud her thoughts with. But he had cleared everything... had made it so simple, so distinct...

Even now, those parts of her body that had been treated so beautifully still pulsed and tingled from the memories and she found herself so caught up in the ultimate sensation of it that she had to see it with her own eyes somehow...

With tentative steps, she reached the full-length mirror by the other side of the bed and slowly raised her shy eyes in inspection of herself.

Her face contorted in disgust as she witnessed the state of her hair, her eyes that since they had cried waterfalls now were puffy and red, as well as the state of Loki's shirt, so wrinkled and a bit wet around the collar. And yet despite all that, her second look of herself was quite different than she had anticipated.

Gradually taking in her reflection for yet one more time she was surprised to admit that she wasn't as much of a mess as she had thought herself to be. Had he done something to her form? Chanted some kind of spell that changed her? Because she could now clearly establish that the woman on the mirror was not a woman she immediately recognised.

Healthy, rosy cheeks matched her luscious lips, lips so blushed and warm that begged to be sucked into a cool mouth. Her pupils were blown wide like black holes in the galaxy, huge expanses of dark desire that hosted all the world's fear and insecurity. Her hair, which had escaped the bun and was now haphazardly cupping her face, was in a mad disarray like she had just ventured through the very jungle of sex.

 _Is this how he sees me?_ she wondered, curiously tilting her head to the side.

Her hands went to her breasts and she cupped them eagerly, looking down at them to see how easily she could fit them in the palms of her hands. It was almost comical how she groped at her own self as if measuring the goods and testing their value. She noted that both of them were well shaped and youthfully tight. Her nipples were already peaking through the fabric of the wrinkled shirt, making it strain slightly in the area of her chest.

Not knowing why exactly, she caught one between her thumb and forefinger and twisted it gently, gasping a bit at the weird sensation of mixed pain and pleasure. Her stomach churned slightly and somehow the action seemed to have an inexplicable connection to the lower regions of her body and their own reactions. She felt herself swell almost instantly, an angry pull tickling at her clit that made her squeeze her thighs together in sheer agony.

 _Is this how he sees me?,_ she thought again. For a minute, her mind went back to that blessed day when he had been so kind so as to draw a bath for her. Not long after she had finished with her relaxation she had found herself in front of a mirror, much like this one, staring at herself, touching different parts of her making to see how they felt, how they reacted, to figure out what they wanted. If one was to omit the incident at the club when she had been absolutely naked and a rag doll under his ministrations, the day of the bath had been the only time he had chosen to be that intimate with her. That was the day he had joined hands with her to help her understand one of the greatest, most needy parts of herself and together they had lovingly cupped that one unique place she most dreaded to satisfy. How wonderful that day had been. How much she had learnt.

She slid her hands down her waist and hips, curiously taking in their shape, their nonetheless womanly shape, no matter how narrow. She slowly massaged them, kneading her own flesh between her very own fingers. It was a feeling like no other, especially because she imagined his hands instead of hers. Strong and unwavering, with veins that ought to be kissed tenderly, his long fingers and semi-rough palms guiding her, directing her, showing her how she could move, taking her into lands inside her that she had never dared to discover on her own.  _Dare?_  No. She wouldn't have to dare do anything with him. He was so smart and experienced and caring that he would assume responsibility immediately once she gave her consent because that was how he was. Plain as day. He would help her navigate through the desert of her senses, he would teach her how to submit, he would show her all the things she wanted to experience.

_Is this how I should see myself?_

Yes. Because in the beginning, middle and end of the day this was how he saw her. He saw a mind inside her body and a body inside her mind. He saw all the contradictions. How she yearned for physicality and how she hesitated to act towards it. He saw her for who she was, not who she had to be. And that was what he liked. Her. Just simple, plain her.

She turned her head towards the open bathroom, her eyes watering from the thick steams coming out, luring her in like a mysterious mist towards the object of her ultimate damnation, towards the only person that truly knew her and still wanted to learn her. The only thing separating them now wasn't a mere insecurity of being turned down, or an unexpected hint that he would not rejoice in her form, but something much more emotionally complex.

It was her fear of giving everything over to another including her own private, self-made obstacle.

Her shyness...

She clutched at the fabric that lay over her thighs with both hands, pulling at it to draw courage and with quiet steps entered the misty bathroom.

And there he was, in all his tall and lean glory, in all his muscled manliness and earth shuttering beauty. It was ridiculous how beautiful he was to her, so much so that her eyes had to adjust to his perfection. She knew all too well that she was definitely idolizing him in her own messed up head but she couldn't help it at all. This was a type of perfection found only in Greek and Roman statues which were so otherworldly that it made you wonder if they were actual Gods trapped within stone. The way this man carried himself even when he did the most mundane of things, that was to say shower, like a normal person, had her looking with heart eyes like some horny sixteen year-old. Everything he did, everything he was, had her in awe.

And as the water trickled down his long calves, as his arms came up to support him against the tiled wall, as his back muscles flexed and shifted, almost as if he was transforming into another entity, as he moved those thighs along with that tight ass she had oh, so discreetly grabbed a few times, and as she heard him sigh and relax under the pressure of the water, one thing she came to know for sure.

 She was abundantly done for...

_Healer_ , Loki thought.  _A true healer_. He was referring to the lovingly purging feeling of the hot water that angrily hit his neck and cascaded down his back like a waterfall upon steep rocks.

And then he thought of her. His little dancer. It was impossible not to if he had to be honest. Unachievable not to bring her to mind even at the most inopportune hours of the day or night. There was no escape from her...

She was very much like the water that cleansed him, soothed him but easily deviated towards lashing him with the whip of her will under circumstances such as the ones they had gone through tonight...

He straightened his spine and took a step back, stretching his long throat to allow the water access to his front. He flexed his shoulder blades and thought of her eyes, pressing the large bones inwards against each other and wondered if she was still wet as he had left her. He was running his fingers through his soaked hair when he heard light footsteps and the intake of a small hesitant breath.

 _Indulging in favourite activities, are we?_  he humoured himself, a lopsided smirk forming on his face as he wondered for how long had she been standing there.

And yet when he slowly turned around to wish her good morning, the little dancer was... quite different than he had anticipated which made the smirk on his face freeze and slowly dissipate...

Firstly, she was standing still much closer to him than any other time he had showered, so close that the tiny water droplets falling from the shower faucet splashed her naked legs. She seemed sorrowfully stiff and uneasy, a fact further confirmed by the arch of her heavy brow and yet she also appeared to be... anticipating something. As if she was pleading for something to happen.

That little observation completely erased the playfulness from his features and turned him affectionately stern. Even if he implied he had utter control over that alteration in his stance he would be lying gravely for indeed he had no idea what changed in him. Something almost authoritative, like a paternal command, but also loving and caring, like the sentiment of a dedicated pleasurer, overtook him, hardening his lips and brows into an expression of dominance. He was unable to summon it back, lest he scared her, but it could not be helped. She just brought it out of him.

She was also pulling at the fabric that fell over her nakedness with nervous fingers, dragging it downwards to cover that which she wanted to keep hidden from his eyes. She twisted it in her weak fists, wrinkling it even more but he could not care less. With shoulders slightly hunched and breasts shaking unevenly from the hesitant breathing, she was looking at him almost fearfully, as if expecting a punishment yet to be administered or waiting for something that... was just beginning to make sense in his own cloudy mind.

Despite her apprehensive and shy posture, she was staring at him in the eyes, she always did that when she challenged him to do something. Was she daring him now to take a peek inside her head and reveal her most sacred desires? Was she trying to alert him of something she wanted?

Evidently, she could not communicate it herself for her reddish lips quivered so terribly that he was positive she was on the brink of new tears. But why? Why such terror from one so young? So much hesitance?

And then he remembered a blessed sign, a trembling allowance she had given him before all the wrong things had happened...

_I want... I want to try more..._

_I want to feel... your hands on me... the way they touched me that night_...

His eyes didn't leave her as he took a step closer, abandoning the hotness of the water for a bit in favour of something much more sacred and treasured.

 _I want that sinking feeling_...

He half expected her to retreat, maybe flee the bathroom and go bunk down under her blanket where she could pretend she was safe from him and everything he had planned for her.

 _That dread in my stomach... that only you can make me feel... I don't know what it is_...

But she only averted her eyes from him skittishly, her whole body, every bit of uncovered skin, blushing like a lovely flower. Her thighs were his favourite spot though, for they too coloured prettily under his close inspection.

 _If it's not too much to ask_...

 _I want to feel you_...

A few more steps and now he was out of the flat surface of the shower space, away from the running water and so terribly close to her in all his wet state that she felt her air supply being shortened.

She blushed harder than ever before, the blood beginning to pump faster underneath her ample, tender and soft flesh. Her wetness was increasing by the minute, by each breath she heard him take, by each droplet that fell onto her naked toes. To her shamed surprise she could distinctly feel it... feel how the slickness was starting to traitorously escape and drip down her inner thigh.

He didn't speak to her at all, didn't address her in any way, simply stood still in front of her and waited. Somehow he seemed taller than usual, paler than usual, musclier than usual to her eyes but it was still him. It was just her dread that altered him.

She didn't dare meet that penetrating stare of his as she started to undo the buttons of her wrinkled shirt. Honestly, she had no idea how she even managed to lift her hands up and do it, but she supposed that half her brain had shut down already from the exhaustion of overthinking. She began from the top, undoing her own self with every bit of skin she allowed him to lay eyes upon. The flat line between her breasts, the centre of her stomach and then her belly and then... she stopped just before the last two buttons that would infinitely mean her end.

She clutched at the fabric there, half wishing she could just rip it off and be done with it and half begging him silently to take it off her with as much brute force as he saw fit.

This internal frustration, the never-ending question of her sensuality and why she did not feel safe and comfortable in expressing it brought fresh tears to her eyes which joined the rest of the water that was pooling around their feet.

Why this? Why now? She had been so ready moments ago, she had been ready in that bathroom at the party. Hell, she had undressed for him in the past, but now... under the light of everything... she just couldn't force her hands into the last bit of work that needed to be done.

He moved again, but this time she flinched a little as she was not expecting it, yet insisted on staying put, not taking a step back, something perversely stubborn preventing her from doing so. How she wished that she could be one of those heroines in one of those overly steamy novels, where they just jump the male with such ferocity and passion and ease that it's almost inhuman, but no. Here she remained, crouched and shivering, dressed in tatters of fears and inhibitions.

His enormous hand came up slowly to cup her hot cheek, the one that was turned away from him, the hidden half of a storm he wished to put at peace.

“Now, now...”, he cooed in a hushed sound, “It's alright...”.

Andrea's brow quirked and her lips formed the poutiest of expressions as she allowed him to turn her face towards him. The gentleness she found in his large eyes as she met them shyly, the comfort they held there reserved just for her, made her feel a little bit better and the sound of his voice was guiding enough to set her heart to rights.

“Look at me, love”, he instructed, but as soon as the words were out of those devilish lips, his hand dropped from her face down to her neck and then her shoulder, which instantly drew her attention away from him, rapidly alarming her that something else was about to happen that she had to witness.

“No”, he chastised immediately and used his other hand to guide her back to him, “Keep your eyes on mine. Don't look at what I'm doing”.

She did as he said and kept her gaze glued to the infinite blue of his eyes that gradually made her heart sink down to her stomach all the more. It was as relaxing as it was dreadful. She parted her lips in wonderment at how odd it was that a couple of moments ago she couldn't even breathe, but now she felt her body going, limper and limper.

He dragged the shirt off her shoulders, making her stomach flip in a strange mixture of excitement and fear and churn violently but she resisted losing her focus. Baggy and oversized as the item was, he didn't even have to venture down to undo the last buttons in order to get rid of it.

She felt it graze against her tightened nipples as it got peeled off her skin and when the irritating feeling stopped, she started shivering from the exposure to the new atmosphere and the humidity it held. As she breathed normally again, her breasts perked up and flattened steadily, and somehow that, as a bodily function, felt reassuring enough.

Past her elbows did the black cloth went until it completely left her middle and was gathered around her waist, her hips being the only base that prevented it from falling down completely.

“Good girl...”, her God praised but she barely heard him.

So intimate that blue was, so wonderful the feeling of being finally free that she only sighed and let go of the agitation that kept her stiff and distant with him.

“Such a good girl for me...”.

And then a light push, a barely audible thump and the past pooled around her ankles, a miniscule ring of memories that she could step out of any time she pleased.

Though outside the heat of the shower, all was cooler and before she knew it, she was shivering. Hesitantly she brought her arms up, not wanting to indicate that she was embarrassed by her nakedness (which she was, but just wouldn't admit it), and wrapped them around herself, rubbing up and down her shoulders to produce some much needed warmth.

 

 

Just then he offered her his hand, palm up, fingers soft and relaxed, inviting her to take it and see where it would lead her. His countenance still stern but somehow tender left no room for objections and his piercing eyes almost caressed her heated cheeks as she unwrapped an arm from her middle and decided that all was decided for her now. This was it. He was giving her a choice, a path to follow and she would take it.

She placed her fingers on the broad palm of that tenderly rough hand of his, recognising how caring the act of not pushing her into this, but instead inviting her, was. Anxiously biting at her lip, she discreetly tried to make sure that she was still covered by her other arm, feigning being utterly cold of course.

Then he led her back into the hot shower, cautiously stepping back so as not to slip and sooner than she had thought possible she was under the water. First her forearm, then her thigh, a shoulder to test if the temperature suited her and then she was completely under the pressure of it, being soaked through, her hair instantly becoming wet, her eyes moist by the excess of the steams. Pure relaxation cascaded down her tense shoulder blades, then waist and curves, stinging a bit but being pleasurable nonetheless.

A bit guiltily she retracted her hand from his and tucked it, as well as the other, between their chests and under her pouty chin, which though resulted in her breasts getting devastatingly hot and achy, it did not deter her from feeling utterly secure and welcome in his arms. She crouched, turned her head to the side and placed her cheek upon his hard sternum, wishing to make herself smaller in comparison to him.

Then she felt something just slightly cold drip down her back along with the water, something whose smell was of flowers and summer and brought the image of lemon trees to her mind. Soon his hands were all over her back, lathering her with it, rubbing it into her skin and washing it off, massaging it into all the tensed spots, mostly gathered right and left of her spine and close to her tailbone. The wonderful sensation and the triggering of her tactile sensitivity as well as the intimate knowledge that he was not obliged to do this, but  _was_  doing it for her, out of need and pure pleasure to take care of her, made her so indescribably relieved that she could only sigh and close her eyes...

With heart clenching caution he washed her shoulders thoroughly, while she stayed glued to his front like a hungry leech, trying to separate the sounds that reached her ears all at once. The hissing of the water, his heart beat against her cheek, the light humming that passed his lips. It was almost infuriating how casually he acted as if he wasn't basically holding up a naked and silly woman who was hooked against him like a big coala.

“How does that feel, little one?”, he whispered in her ear after a few moments of comforting silence.

Andrea sighed heavily, “I... I can't... I don't know...”.

“Want to use a metaphor perhaps?”, he suggested so calmly, with such assertion over himself, with such control. She really admired that in him, “You describe things so beautifully through metaphors. Please, try...”.

More of that delicious gel was poured on her, this time below her tailbone and he didn't waste a second to start rubbing it all around her waist. When his hands dropped lower to cup her shapely ass cheeks, she froze a little, her eyes popping wide open but finding their focus again, after she got used to his intimate treatment. He had, truth been told, touched her ass like that before but back then it had been playful and giggly and foolish. Now he was being dead serious, quiet, attentive, like a man on a mission and it somehow felt different to be touched in such a private part. The context was different, many things had happened between then and now...

Clearing her throat, she made an attempt at explaining, “It's like... when you get out of the water and your skin shivers, but it's a lovely sunny day and the sun is slowly drying you off... I... I'm a little cold but... I' getting warmer and warmer and... it's relaxing.... and I feel sleepy... It's like... sunbathing but... on the inside...”.

He only hummed approvingly whilst putting further pressure on the dimples on her waist, something that made her gasp out. She was incredibly tense there for reasons she could not understand. Maybe it was all that sleeping on the couch, but now she was starting to give in to everything he was plentifully offering. From the tender touch to the possessive hold he had on her bottom, from the simple demand that she should try and express herself to the low humming that meant his approval.

It ended up being as simple as that. After she really came to terms with what she needed, whilst authoritatively experiencing it from the man she loved, admired and respected, it proved not difficult at all to receive his ministrations on her bare form the same way she would have received them were she fully dressed. There was no need to shy away from him, no need to cover anything at all from his eyes because this was simply  _him_.  _Him_  touching her like this, with a tempered delicacy that made her want to cry from happiness.  _Him_  holding her so securely,  _him_  washing the exhaustion off her with such gentility and care that she couldn't even wrap her mind around the fact that this God was one of the most notorious, evillest spirits of a whole other universe.

She sighed heavily for the hundredth time, her chest puffing up against his, and in a minute of sincere need to have her voice heard, she breathed out barely two words she felt she ought to say.

“I'm sorry...”.

Upon hearing this short apology though Loki didn't cease washing her bottom, occasionally spreading her cheeks so that the cleansing gel could reach inside.

“For what, little one?”, he said sternly, soon after giving some attention to the backs of her thighs, kneading them firmly.

He was in pure elation when she moaned and fidgeted under his prying touch, so flustered and confused but insisting on wanting to experience it all. To experience  _him_.

She shrugged lightly, “For everything, I guess”, she sniffed and turned her head to the other side, resting her other cheek upon his wet chest, “Ev- everything. For... insisting on going to that party when you... when you... obviously knew better. For being... so so stupid, stupid enough to convince you to... stay on till the end. For... for what Stark said... I don't... For being such a coward, for thinking that you... you... that you would leave me and... now... I don't know why I'm so hesitant and stupid and... hormonal...”.

She realised she was losing her words and her resolution to utter them began to waver, new tears springing from her eyes. She swallowed them down though and protectively tucked her hands firmer under her chin.

“Darling...”, Loki began, dragging his hands up her lovely body, “... must we truly weep over the past?”.

“I can't help but think nothing  _but_  the past, Loki. I can't. I just can't. I hurt you, I hurt myself. I got so... I behaved so stupidly, so childishly...”, she explained shoving her face against him in sheer embarrassment, rubbing her nose over a small spot upon his collarbone in hopes of drawing some courage.

His arms came up to wrap her up in an unbreakable embrace, pressing her deeper into him as if hoping, himself, he could imprint her on his front. Lowering his head just a bit he placed a chaste kiss upon the shell of her ear.

“My love, my dancer, my little one, unfortunately, I do not share not even one bit of your worries. At all”, he divulged playfully, whilst drawing random patterns with his fingers across her shoulders, “There's nothing to be sorry for, nothing to forgive in your character. And frankly, I've got no appetite to talk about Stark, or what's considered proper behaviour and the like, and what is more, I couldn't give a flying fuck about matters that ought to be discussed in general”.

His light-hearted tone and complete self-assurance shocked Andrea so much that she snapped her head up and locked eyes with him, desperate to understand what made him so bloody chirpy. While she looked at him wide-eyed and terribly confused... the bastard was smiling at her. He was smiling up to the ears, even his whiskers were practically jiggling with laughter, almost as if he knew something she was surely ignoring.

“What?”, was all the thoughts she managed to express.

“What?”, he sang back, completely unfazed.

“What... as in... how can you say that after... after all that happened? How can you not be... I don't know... mad at everyone? At... me...”.

“Why would I choose to be mad when I'm so completely happy?”.

To that she raised her eyebrows so much that they reached her hairline, the little flesh under her chin doubling up comically.

He chuckled at her reaction and shook his wet head with such pure joy, like a dog shaking the rain off its fur.

“Andrea, it's really not that complicated”, he introduced good-naturedly as he snaked a hand under her hair to rest it behind her hot, soaked neck.

“You think I care about what happened a night, a morning, a few hours ago, who the bloody hell knows, when I've got you perfectly trapped in my arms, naked and shivering and moaning through my chest straight into my heart? Do you think I still feel hurt from your insinuation that I'd throw you out on the street when we are probably already snowed in, in a cabin, in the middle of the woods, so up North that not a soul can find us, away from everything and everyone, wrapped up like this, in an embrace that expresses the utmost intimacy and your trust in me? In an embrace that I've been praying for so long? You think I'd pay any attention to being saucy and feign sensitively wounded when you're here with me, like this, because you want to be? Woman, it's really as simple as that for me and frankly, for any man. Sometimes, all we truly need is our beautiful lover snuggling up against us and their very...”, then he paused and administered a light slap on her ass that had her squealing, “... very delectable bottoms all in our disposal to wash and grab. Look around you, look at me, look at us. Look  _between_  us. What makes you think I'm even remotely bringing to mind what happened who the hell knows how long ago?”, he concluded, squeezing hard the ass cheek he had just slapped.

She giggled and squealed again at the forceful, playful contact and just like that, purely by some strange, unknown power beyond her comprehension, those hands of hers that were so shyly tucked between their chests turned around to rest flat upon his chest muscles. She felt how he breathed, how life essence was being transmitted in and out of his lungs, occasionally rolling his nipples back and forth between her thumbs, smiling to herself at how hard she made them with her touch.

She nodded her understanding, not sure how she could articulate how right he was or how much she agreed with him now that he was pointing so many new aspects out. So she stayed silent, her eyes going around the steamy space of the shower, Loki's smiling face, the water drops that cascaded down his long neck until they focused on the spot between their bodies. But there was no in between. They were tightly pressed against each other to the point where she couldn't tell which patch of skin belonged to whom. If it wasn't for the difference in colour she would have no means of telling them apart.

 _I'm naked_ , she stupidly thought, as if realising for the first time.

 _I'm... naked._  But as she turned it over in her head, she came to understand that she didn't feel so. At least not as much as she had felt in the beginning. What was nakedness after all if two bodies were so close that they could cloth each other?

She swallowed thickly, her heart beating so fast within her chest that she thought she would soon burst. And burst she did, just not in the way she had been expecting. Not in the comical sort of way of an angry groan, of a none intelligible release that would have them both laughing uncontrollably. No.

Because sometimes life makes you react in ways you've never anticipated from yourself. Because life, more often than not, pushes you over the edge just because she's tired of watching you drawing into yourself, so bloody closed off that you don't actually breathe, don't actually live. So she finds ways to make you do things you never thought you could.

So Andrea, although she had no idea of it, was suddenly overtaken by a great need to live, and breathe and experience and delight in her senses.

She had no recollection of her hands sliding down his body and around his waist to end up wantonly embracing his back.

There was no great conundrum, no equivocation and no real understanding of her own feeling as she leaned forward with curious eyes fixed on the two hard lines that were his lips, transfixed at how pinkier they were under hot water. She didn't make the distinction between when her rapid breath mingled with his own steadier one. All she realised was that her essence of life was being cosmically shared with another.

She took a deep breath, parted her lips, cried a little whining sound and then her softness and submission caressed his hardness and dominance so very tenderly that she didn't even think she was actually touching anything. It was neither grandiose nor the ultimate collision, that first try of hers.

Her plush lips covered his in a little fleshly O that lasted barely five seconds. Her mouth pressed against his and her lips bloomed open to taste him, salivating his own just a tad, barely wetting them with the pureness of an unkissed woman.

Un unkissed woman. Her eyes flew open at the thought and the first thing they noticed was that his were tightly closed. He wasn't responding at all to her. He was frozen on the spot, his arms still as a statue's on her back and shoulders, blind to her face and completely unaware of her terrified expression. She was beginning to doubt that she had done it at all.

She tried to draw back immediately but just at that moment, his arms came back to life and held her closer, his fingers digging into her flesh needily, flexing against her as if to make sure she wouldn't dissipate into thin air. He prevented her so effortlessly from putting distance where distance shouldn't be put that she was left helpless and frozen herself. She shook her head in denial, her brain unconvinced of what she had just done.

And before she had the chance to try to leave again, escape his arms and flee to God knows where, her eyes were drawn back to his face.

He darted his tongue out and licked at his bottom lip before his mouth contorted into the widest, most joyful grin she had ever seen...

 


	32. tongue untied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss has been given. A kiss has been felt. But with only a kiss... their passion for one another cannot be expressed. This is only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I would like to take a moment and apologise to all who have been waiting. I tried my best to bring you this chapter as soon as I could. Lots of things got in the way I'm afraid. Coursework, essays, life, bills, mental health, but thankfully this chapter is here and I hope it makes some amends for the long absence. Thanks for your patience. Truly. 
> 
> I have a slight warning for this piece. Be careful whilst reading, because I've been experimenting with the famous stream of consciousness and I fear I have messed up pretty bad. I think I'm better at doing it over at Inked. Here it is much more complicated because the language and the point of view are different. 
> 
> In terms of fluff and the erotic element, I hope I am not disappointing you. You see, and I said this over at Inked as well, it's kind of the first time that I write the erotic part into a story. So, bear with me if it's a bit unfocused or if I seem like I don't know what I'm on about. I'll get to write this stuff great eventually. 
> 
> *As always, pictures are borrowed from the web so all their rights belong to their respective owners. I threw a lot of them into the text this time, cause, confession, I was feeling horny. 
> 
> Have a good read and again, apologies for the long delay.

Andrea stared at him intensely, her green eyes as round as the pearls of a sparkly necklace, as he licked his lips again and tilted his head forward. Some wet strands of his jet black hair caressed her overheated cheeks but she didn't dare make a step back or raise her fingers to remove them.

What was most surprising, in spite of everything that had just happened and all the words exchanged, was that she could still breathe normally. In and out she traded the steamy oxygen of the atmosphere, his proximity allowing her to borrow portions of his breath as well. _So close... so close_ , she thought. So close that she could very well perform again the foolishness she wanted.

Then he grinned and her composure faltered. It was to be expected, really. This man could have her in the most relaxed of states in one minute and the next he could have her flying above the clouds with no concrete ground under her feet. The only stability he now offered was administered through his reassuring touch, a touch to which she hung on with all her might. His arms had relaxed around her after he had made sure she wouldn't escape and his fingers were no longer attempting to break her flesh, yet still, it was a touch that she could feel all too well.

“Oh, woman...”, he rasped quietly, the grin still in place.

A shiver went through her at the sound of his voice, for it was so controlled that it pierced the background hiss of the water and touched her sensitive ears most reverently. But what did he mean? How did he mean it? _Woman? What woman? I'm as scared as an animal,_ she thought in silence, whilst her eyes journeyed all over his tilted, elated face in search of answers.

“Oh... woman...”, he said again, this time a bit more laboured.

A small, choking sound escaped her lips which she didn't recognise coming from her mouth. It was nothing like the sobs of the previous night. Nothing like the pent-up angst she had felt. This was different. Different and pure and so totally unlike her.

Before she could get a hold on her senses, the apologies were rolling off her tongue as if in need to plead her case, “I'm sorry... I... I... sorry, I don't...”.

She chewed on her lower lip but all she could taste was how it had touched his. Her embarrassment was off the charts and it was clearly shown in the new colour of her complexion. She guiltily tried to disentangle herself from him and create some space to breathe but he wouldn't let go. _He never let go_...

She shook her head, “I'm sorry, I don't know how to do this... please.”

He shook his head too, chuckling lightly at her words and when he found her face and opened his bright blue, brimming with moisture eyes, her expression calmed considerably, yet her mind still raced with possibilities and doubts. Why was he looking at her like that? Why were his eyes teary? Why were his hands roaming over her back so very slowly? Why did she shiver like that even under extremely hot water? Why did that blue and green, that connection, make her pulse and ache in places only known to her?

She prayed she could say something smart, something that would get her out of her uncomfortable situation and the heavy emotion in his eyes that made her cower but instead, she could only adjust to the patheticness of her behaviour and produce an equal answer.

“I must seem like a child to you...”, she gravely expressed, lowering her head in defeat. Her stomach sunk at the admission, a lump quickly forming at the base of her throat.

Immediately she felt his thumb and forefinger ascending the long column of her neck to reach her jaw and tilt her face upwards. With reluctance she obeyed, knowing it in her heart that defiance would earn her nothing.

When she looked at him again, when her skittish eyes found that blue and stuck to it, her insides turned to jelly, for the affection and approval she saw under his heavy brow was too much to bear. Even for someone as strong as her...

“Why a child?”, Loki asked calmly, his heart exploding with the need to crash his mouth on hers and seal it there forever, but still, he held off.

He felt for her deeply. It was so easy to wander down such way of thinking. He understood where it was coming from, this need to reduce herself, but only by having her admit it would he be able to free her and on this, he would insist.

“Andrea... talk to me. Tell me this and I promise you no more words afterwards”, he pressed gently, his hand rubbing soothing circles across her waist.

She tried to stir away, but he kept her in place, silently demanding to hear her view in a question he already knew the answer to.

Finally, she took a deep breath and managed to squeak out a few words, “Because I... I don't know how to... how to do it... how... you know”.

“Yes, I do know, but I'll have you tell me”, he interjected with determination.

She furrowed her brows pleadingly, “Why would you torture me like that?”.

“Is it torture to explain a delusion?”.

Andrea squinted at him, not exactly following his argument. The steams suddenly felt heavier and the climate more humid than before. His cryptic words were causing her a headache altogether.

“What... what delusion? ”

“That you don't know how to kiss.”

She shook her head determinedly. She didn't want to hear this, “It's not a delusion, I don't.”

“But you just did it.”

“No... I...”, but on second thought, “Yes, I did. No... It's not... it's not a delusion. I've... Loki... I've never... you're...”, but she groaned and sighed an exhausted sigh, dropping the counter argument she was struggling to establish.

“I'm...?”, he teased, picking up where she left off, his grin breaking through again.

Andrea chewed on her lip, embarrassed even by the sight of his clearly displayed merriment, “You're... the... the first... and I did it... I did it wrong.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I...?”

“How do you know you did it wrong if you've never done it before?”, he explained and watched seductively as her eyes widened a bit and her nose scrunched up in acknowledgement of his point.

“I... I don't know...”.

“No, you don't. You simply think you do, my love, and you're trying to force yourself into a category that you don't belong in because you feel the need to conform, adopt the innocence you think you should exhibit”, he clarified for her, his eyes burning her up with honesty and passion alike.

When he saw that she wasn't going to answer, surely out of fear of accepting this well-justified honesty, he continued, “Innocence indeed. But you're not innocent, Andrea. In flesh, yes, but in mind, _no_. I can see right through you. I can feel it every time I touch you, every time I catch a whiff of you. You're not as innocent as society would like you to be and that disconcerts you, tortures you, disgusts you even. You would have yourself believe that because I'm the first man you've opened yourself up to, the first to have seen and touched you while you're bare and unprotected that you have to sell me innocence on a silver plate. It doesn't excite you to fear my reactions, little one, it makes you anxious. Forcing your nature down _weakens_ you, it doesn't offer you the chance to experience diversity. I don't want that from you”.

“Then what do you want from me?”, she asked in a tremulous voice, taking into her heart the things he said but refusing to confirm them directly.

“I want you to be yourself. I want you to follow your instincts and _give into me_. Andrea, in a kiss, in a touch, in the whole spectrum of sex it's instinct that guides us, not a technique. It's something deep inside, something primal and _you know it_. You've known it all your life. Embrace it with me. That's what I want from you”, Loki explained, the crease between his brows softening with each word.

“But... but... I'm so uncertain about... things and although you promised you'll help me... I still feel... insecure”, she admitted shyly, still struggling to salvage a pride kept up for years.

“Are you really?”, he divulged, “Was it insecurity that made you tell me about your sensory issues that morning when we were lying on the bed? Was it insecurity that made you touch me? That made you feel me? Was this the very face of insecurity that just now kissed me?”.

Andrea lowered her eyes to his chest and began to think about it. But before she had time to think further he spoke again, “If I have any say in it, I do not in the least think it was”.

“Yes, but... I'm scared”, she admitted too, swallowing down a few tears that were threatening to make their appearance.

“Fear is an instinct too.”

“Loki, you don't... you don't understand... I'll... I'm afraid of making a fool of myself... you don't know... A kiss for you is perhaps the simplest thing in the world but for me... it's... it's...”.

He chuckled again, feeling a bit guilty of the satisfaction he drew from seeing her unravel like this. It was like peeling off the toughest grape of the harvest.

“You don't understand with words, do you?”, he teased, licking his lips devilishly, an action that always had her in bits and pieces.

His hand then dropped from her quivering jaw to her shoulder and from her shoulder, it made its way to one of her wrists. With his thumb, he caressed the delicate, protruding bone and sighed heavily, as if in deep melancholy, though his smile stayed in place.

The water echoed around them, its steams blurring their eyes and its warmth melting their reddened skin and even though so close in flesh, Loki could tell that their minds were still separated... or perhaps in false disagreement. But it was fine. Good lovers tend to disagree and fight. But really good lovers end it all with silence and mouths.

His eyes twinkled with promise as he was positive that this was no obstacle at all. Just a delusion, as he had openly clarified, that could be distinguished, easily made to fade away if only she accepted it in her heart.

Slowly he brought her wrist closer to his mouth, making her detach her arm from the squished place between them, where she'd previously stuck it, forcing her to realise that she was not as frozen as she thought, not as scared as she would want to reduce herself to.

With his eyes glued to her to make sure she would remain comfortable no matter the novelty of this situation, he pressed his lips to the tiny green tubes in the inside of her sand coloured wrist.

“I wonder...”, he breathed against her skin as he skimmed his lips further down her forearm, “... do you understand _this_?”.

Andrea's brain started to clear out again, the noisy little doubts that were eating her away retreating to god knows where, as only one sensation began to overtake her. The sensitive nerves that bound her heart, her skin, her blood, her organs altogether were sparked into life by nothing more complex than those butterfly kisses he graced her with.

She watched him in fascination, her mind a pure black canvas, as he marked a trail of love all over the length of her arm until his face was bent and shoved into the crook of her neck. Her eyes closed on their own accord and somehow that intensified the feel of his lips.

He kissed her collarbone. He kissed the gentle slope leading up to her neck. He kissed with reverence and respect her pounding pulse points, the veins that screamed for him to attack them and he did it with a languidness that tortured her.

But why would his slowness upset her? Why would the fact that he took his time, make her burn? What did she burn for? Where was the child now? Where was the coyness? A minute ago she was on the verge of crying, of needing to extricate herself from him and go somewhere else where she could breathe. But now...

The arm he had drawn away from the rest of her body wished to move, as Andrea's foggy brain tried to indicate, and so she moved it and settled her forearm on Loki's shoulder while her hand snaked under his wet hair. She tangled her fingers through the now heavy strands and pulled at them, pushed him closer, tried to get him to fit perfectly against her, she really couldn't care what she was striving to achieve. She only knew she needed him... that much closer.

Loki smiled against her shoulder and tightened his arm around her waist.

 _So you do understand_..., he thought happily. _Where's the child now, little dancer?_

His hungry lips fixed upon the column of her throat, whereupon they descended and opened up to suck as much and as deep as possible. With elation, he continued to worry the skin till she arched her spine like a feline beast ready to pounce.

“How about _this_?”, he teased and licked the underside of her jaw, a primal act that made her suck her breath in and smile in full indulgence.

Loki was very much aware that maybe she wasn't exactly sure what all this emotion meant. Maybe she didn't know that a kiss, of whichever type, could render a person so ecstatic, raw and uncaring of anything else. He kept in mind that she was a virgin in all physical aspects, obviously, yet he couldn't for one second come to terms with that foolish belief of childishness. This creature in his arms blossomed and smiled and stretched herself to her tiptoes to feel more, to experience, to discover where this urge would take her. This was a woman even though she wasn't acquainted with the term. No matter. He would make her see. Was that not his job as a man?

“Or this...”, he teased again and caught her earlobe between his teeth.

When he gave it a gentle bite and a short nip, Andrea's stomach flipped and her memory took her back to the bathroom at Stark's. How she thrilled and gasped and moaned when he did that, whatever that was and whatever technique it needed. She just wanted it and was willing to behave like a cat in heat in order to get it. So desperate she was that she twisted the hair at the nape of his neck and begged him to do it again.

“What was that?”, Loki question playfully.

“Mm...”, she breathed out, the sounds coming out of her strained and incoherent. 

He chuckled and immediately obliged. This time he nipped harder at the soft flesh and earned a full moan that stirred him into an arousal so intense as made him tense his belly. 

He was beginning to lose himself as well in the sensuality of the moment, his usual strong grip on control slipping through his fingers with every reaction he got out of her. Trailing soft kisses from her jawline to her cheek, he willed himself to stop for a bit and check the waters for the grand part he would soon subject her too, praying at the same time to keep his own desires sufficiently under reign. 

But he didn't have time to look at her well. He didn't have a chance to assure himself that she was ready to take his lips again, the newness of them against hers, the wetness of the kiss he yearned to give. He didn't even have time to breathe for before he so much as opened his eyes he closed them again and embraced all the warmth she so sweetly gave him.

What ancient force, what long suppressed desire pushed her towards him so intensely he couldn't guess, but as he encircled her in his arms and secured her against his chest he was home and that was all that mattered.

When their lips sealed, he felt freed from some invisible string, some strict chord that tied him from speaking, from kissing, from devouring those shy, trembling petals that were now willingly touching him. And yet he had to realise that the greatest gratification wasn't wholly the kiss itself but the simple truth that although fearful and uncertain she was still seeking it out. _That_ was what he admired most in her and what he yearned to flash out.  The resilience and dedication to the sensation.

He took the largest breath his lungs could sustain, nostrils flaring open with the need to consume her, kidnap a piece of her and trap it inside him. He lasted like that a whole of twenty seconds with his grip on her waist strong enough to reassure but weak enough to allow her to move away if she got overwhelmed.

But Andrea wanted to do no such thing. Instead, she breathed in as well, taking the spicy scent of him into her and relishing in the way it forced her heart to the point of bursting. The pressure of his lips felt heavenly on her luscious mouth. The tilt of his face to the side was the perfect angle to accommodate both of their aristocratic noses, a thought which almost made her giggle. His hands, anchored on her waist and neck as they were, made her further aware of his physical presence. Bodies glued to each other, water dripping down on their sides or settling into tiny little pools where her breast met his, hair sticking upon their shoulders in all random directions and all around her the smell of a beautiful garden of flowers and eastern spices. It occurred to her, in the midst of all this sensory overindulgence, that a girl couldn't possibly receive a better first kiss...

It was a tender kiss if one was to leave aside its constrained urgency. There was no rush, no need to satisfy anything immediate. It was safe to say they both knew that out here in the wild, inside this warm little cabin they would make up for all the time they had lost, the time during which she had lived in constant fear of being herself and he had been watching from a distance waiting for her to finally decide their next steps. In a way, all the tension and the pain they had suffered from the revelations at Stark's party could only be considered to their advantage for they brought them closer than ever...

With closed eyes and shivering skin, she smiled against his mouth and she felt him smile too just before he stole a couple more smooches, more playful and less deep. Their chests heaved angrily against each other as they tried to gather the oxygen back into their lungs, their pounding hearts eager to tear through their skin and fly out of their bodies and they hadn't even looked at each other yet.

Andrea slowly opened her lids only to find him staring back at her, his piercing blue eyes dark with evidence of desire but also an aching need to simply see her. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. How he could tame all he felt inside and still have the composure to look out for her on every occasion, while she just unravelled in his hands, melted and fell limp with no power, or will, to stop it.

She didn't know why she was smiling again so naively, almost stupidly, drowned in some wet ecstasy of the moment they had shared. She darted her tongue out instinctively and moisturized her lips, sighing deeply, letting go and surrendering against him. She hooked both hands on his shoulders and nuzzled her face against his chest and sternum, the smile still firm on her lips. She smelled him, touched him, discovered him via all her senses, even felt as bold as kissing the tiny grey hairs at the centre of his strong muscles. Her mind was empty. All worlds existing beyond this shower space blurry, distant and numb. All the actions beyond the joining of their bodies, not worth performing. All the envy and mirth and illness of people who wanted them apart, simply gone.

She hadn't realised she was going limper and limper until he gripped her a bit tighter and held her up entirely on his own. He chuckled lightly in her ear, realising half amused half anxious what this was...

“So nervous were you, my darling? Close to fainting straight into my arms?”.

She nodded and buried her face against him once more, hugging him closer by wrapping her arms around his neck and tugging him down. Thanks to their heights she didn't have to try much, for he obliged immediately and splaying his hands all over her back, he bent down and kissed the spot where shoulder met neck. He bit down gently making her moan and giggle at the same time, one sound fighting for dominance over the other. Both were music to his ears nonetheless.

Heating her with his breath, tickling her with the water drops that fell from his hair, he rasped, “Let me take care of you...”.

Andrea nodded instantly, without analysing the actual meaning of the words, but then added as an afterthought, “Yes... but...”, and chewing on her kissed lip, “... slowly, please. This is...”.

“New...”, Loki filled in, smiling his approval, “I know”, and trailing his fingertips over her back, leaving tiny red scratch marks in circular and straight patterns on her skin, added, “You're doing wonderfully, beloved...”.

“Thank... you...”, she stuttered with a deep exhale, thinking at random how he always called her sweet things.

Little one, little dancer, love, lover, now beloved... It was as if he was trying to find different categories each time just to prove to her that she could fit into all, that she was everything. At least to him...

After warming some shampoo between his palms to produce that lush, thick foam he ran his fingers through her bush of hair and washed them thoroughly, careful to be gentle with his moves so as not to pull hard at the roots and hurt her.

A contented sigh escaped her lips, her warm breath hitting him right in the chest. She felt fuzzy inside and since she elected not to cover herself anymore but instead open her chest up and hold onto him, he deduced that he must have been doing something right...

“This is nice...”, she mumbled as he worked the marvellous smelling liquid through her hair for a second time and used the hot water to wash it off, making sure to rub at the back of her neck in the process.

Her relaxation and comfortability were his two objectives. Her pleasure would come soon. Her screams of elation... even later...

“I thought so too”, he purred in her ear and kissed it tenderly.

Next, he focused on her shoulders, lathering them with enough shower gel to suffice for the entirety of her arms. From shoulder blades to elbows and from there all over her forearms he rubbed and massaged until her hands felt like jelly and were unable to stay up and around him for much longer. The tiny kisses he laid upon her wrists, tickled her veins and in no way helped her case.

Andrea was completely at his mercy and very much happy to be there if she had to be frank. Tingly all over from his treatment and dazed, lost in a sea of tangible sensation she had only to let go and let him do his thing. No matter she was naked. No matter what he saw. No matter his wonderful strength and power over her. Would she be too weak to admit she liked the effect it had on her?

The point, the final insecurity rested on what he chose and would choose to touch, which so far hadn't been as intimate as she'd thought. Their souls had been intimate with each other, for sure. Honesty was intimacy. But for her, their bodies remained perfectly safe from the intrusiveness of a further, deeper exploration. There had only been her natural shame and his natural stubbornness to prove that in truth, she was lying to herself. Until...

“Would you turn around for me, darling?”.

Her stomach dropped and her half-closed eyes popped open at the sound of that, but she didn't show it. The only thing that could possibly betray her was the beating of her own traitorous heart against his front, which he would have obviously heard and felt before she could even form her first coherent thought.

“Around?”, she murmured, as if not having heard correctly.

There was no lying to herself now. No hiding. No secret plan in this, not on her part, not on his. It would have been so much easier if she had a facade ready. A lie to hide her shame behind. But Andrea didn't wear facades with him. She didn't lie and she felt not the least bit scared of him and what he might do. Could one describe this as excitement? Oh, yes, she was excited. And the only fear lurking in her mind was due to the realisation of that exact feeling. What strange phenomenon was this according to which you wish to do things that scare you to bits?

“Yes, darling”, she heard him confirm, his smoky voice reverberating through his chest, right where her ear rested.

She hesitantly withdrew her arms from around his neck, quickly tucking them against her exposed parts when the feeling of warmth from his body ceased to exist. She hated to have to turn away from him for his invisible heat was a great comfort. The moisture gathered upon his skin from the steams and the beating water served as a reminder of familiarity and of being connected by a natural selection of elements.

Now looking away from him, she began to feel the crippling embarrassment boiling up in her stomach and plump cheeks and though she tried to yield it to her will, in the end, it won and only made her tighten her arms around her chest in protection. Stupidly she thought why should she do that? Who would see her? The wall?

But Loki wouldn't have that. He wouldn't have her hiding and he certainly wouldn't have her being ashamed whilst with him. It was a natural move for her to shy away, _that_ he recognised but he also knew that within she hid a whole other entity, a woman who if provoked could drag her hand down his balls and have him at her mercy anytime she felt like it. That woman needed unleashing. Soon.

He caught her wrists in a gentle grip and drew them away from that breast she oh, so chivalrously tried to protect and with the lamest pretence of all time, he guided her arms up to wrap around his neck.

“So that you won't slip...”, he cooed devilishly and just out of spite and personal need to satisfy the sadist in him, infiltrated her thoughts only to hear her grant and curse him. How he delighted...

Despite her internal frustration and sense of ultimate exposure at having her breasts so dreadfully stretched and available, she bit her lip and nodded submissively. She knew he wanted her just like that. Vulnerable. Flashed out. Ready to be taken. Dependent on his next action. With her breath like a jumping stone in her throat. Pliant and not fully willing. To say that she wasn't excited and filled with desires she couldn't communicate would be an understatement.

Every bone, every nerve ending, every fibre of her being cautioned her to get her hands down and put distance and yet she only fell back against him, her fingers slowly tangling in his wet mane, which was that much longer now that it was soaked through, her chest opening up and straining forwards with every breath she drew. The weight of her body felt different. Heavy perhaps was the best way to describe it. Heavy with anxiety and anticipation.

Sensing her distress he strove to quiet her down. Small and featherlike kisses met her neck and raised shoulders, the insides of her arms, the soft spot of the elbow. They fell like the water droplets that tingled her erect nipples before they landed on her stomach and created tiny trails downwards to her shut thighs.

His lips worshipped her in tiny sacrificial nips and playful bites, while other times he simply enjoyed rubbing his mouth over the skin of her neck, like a happy dog loving its master's compliance to his wishes to play.

Gel was being massaged into her stomach and belly, both of which went instantly soft and almost plump against his hands' ministrations. Whatever ab she had, melted. Whatever muscle she bore, dissolved. Whatever pain in her tummy because of her due period, vanished. And as background music... only the sound of her breath. In fact, she was so focused on it, so terribly taken in by the peculiar eroticism it carried that only too late she realised that his hands were travelling up the solid ribcage...

Broad, hot palms, covered in wonderful soap cupped her small breasts with the utmost gentleness, covering them completely from view.

It made her start and her breath hitched in her throat. As much as she wanted to choke it down and be sensible, behave like an adult and just take it, she found herself unable to suppress the original shock of such a touch for it was really the first intimacy she was experiencing. Never before had she been treated with such care in parts so sacred, in parts that bore the sigil of her femininity and essence of womanliness. To have a man touch that... out of the blue... without at least a little hint... it suddenly felt too much to handle, especially for a woman like her, whose sensitivity to sensation was so increased.

And he sensed it.

And he helped her.

But he didn't move his hands an inch away.

“It's alright...”, he shushed, his hands rising and falling with the rapid rhythm of her chest, “It's alright, little dancer.”

Her stomach churned delightfully at the sound of her darling name and her tether to it helped her find a centre to focus. A binding link that connected her to him and his support.

“It's only me”, he breathed against her skin, making it all hot and tingly.

Blinking hard she nodded in agreement and leaned her head back as if to beg to hear the words for one more time. The silent prayers were answered instantly.

“It's only me”, Loki repeated heartily, determinedly, “It's my hands.”

He pressed a gentle kiss on the slope of her neck.

“My hands.”

He nuzzled his nose against her shoulder.

“My love.”

He turned his head to the other side and as he started kneading the tight but substantial flesh between his fingers, whispered, “My woman.”

Andrea moaned at the sound of that, lost all inhibition and opened her chest more to him, allowing him to grab her as he liked. Funny how a few words, rightly spoken and from someone you love have the power to boost you like this. Funny how they bring out something that you didn't know you possessed. Even funnier how wanton they make you, how willing to be pleased and to please. Every deep breath she took, every stretch of her chest muscle was screaming a need to hear him say more, indulge her vanity, raise her in mind and body. Truthfully enough, she didn't regret this at all.

His hands swept across her breasts, squeezing gently upon occasion. His thumbs went over her taut nipples and teased them in a way so unfamiliar to her but so subtle in its intensity that she had to bite down on her lip to keep from moaning louder.

In a dreamlike state, as she was, she sensed everything happening in slow motion, therefore she only felt his hands sliding down her shapely figure only inches before he reached her bare womanhood. He stopped there to squeeze some more gel into his palms and rub it into warmth.

“May I?”, he whispered in her ear.

She took a moment to understand the request and despite her fear and apprehension, nodded positively.

His arm automatically came up and wrapped around her stomach, either to serve as a means of support and encouragement or to make sure that she wouldn't escape upon first contact. With Loki, all was open to interpretation and every possibility had to be considered.

She sucked her breath in, starting a little when his long fingers slid down between her thighs and caressed the slippery flesh. He parted his fingers, she felt, using only the middle and the fore to wash the aroused petals with devastating languidness, as if he had all the time in the world. Between her folds he let his hand glide, tending, massaging, rubbing the sweat away and respectfully avoiding touching inside her or that pulsing, needy, masochistically dependent on him, pearl.

She was wet. Wet beyond all measure and the longer he touched her like that, so wonderfully purely, the dirtier, the rawer she felt. Her stomach was filling with butterflies that seemed to never die. She leant her neck back on his shoulder, her mouth wide open so that the loud sighs and the neverending frustrations could escape freely. Maybe one or two butterflies would find their way out as well, but Andrea wasn't sure she wanted their wings to cease flattering within her.

With closed eyes, furrowed brows and coloured cheeks, she looked to him like a goddess in her natural environment, bound like a sacrifice on the body of her lover, waiting, needing, desiring, understanding, inching closer and closer to the source of the pleasure that she had denied him so long. Simply to see her writhe like this. Only to hold her and touch her where she needed to be touched the most.

His fingers came out slick as he removed them from her womanhood, a bright grin spreading across his jaw.

“What do we have here...”, he hummed against her neck which made her eyes open and her head to jump up in attention.

In shame, she realised what he was referring to.

In front of her, he held the evidence of her unquenchable need. The last piece of her that he would claim.

She said nothing. Only bit her lip for the twentieth time and resolved to push her shyness away, to force the redness of her cheeks out and instead focus on the moment. On this moment with him, that seemed to have no end and no beginning. In her mind lines had begun to blur, timelines to get distorted until she wasn't even sure how it had all started.

His chucking interrupted her thoughts.

“Later, love... I promise”, he told her, his voice filled with dangerous playfulness.

A little smile broke out on her face as she began to entertain a million possibilities of what he might do, but before she had the chance to come up with any witty answers he left her tingling and aching all over and dropped down to one knee. He spun her around by the hips and she barely had the mind to put her hands on his shoulders for balance.

Her gaze was stunned and confused as she stared down at him but one that quickly melted into soft and shy once she came to grasp with just how much delight and appreciation he was looking up at _her_.

Flustered and entranced by all the love and all the emotion he incited in her, she didn't realise exactly when he started to wash her from the waist down, lifting her legs alternatively so that he could get behind her knees and other soft spots, like the fleshlier bits of her calves or the tender skin on her inner thighs.

Slightly squirmy, terribly unsteady but massively turned on, Andrea watched him as he massaged her legs and brought them under the hot water to wash the foam off. His hands dexterously took care of everything, while his intense devotion and attention to detail was in itself a reason to get her even hornier.

It proved that he had no boundary as far as tending to a body went. Probably, he wasn't even squirmish about any function and had no idea how to find certain aspects of a body offensive or not as lovely. Instead, he seemed to have a deeper understanding of what a woman's body meant, how it worked, how tender one should be with certain areas, how delicate or how strong her bones could be. And he loved all of it. All the trouble, all the tiredness of having to care to such an extent. It made her wonder how he viewed women during sexual acts, how he treated them, how he took care of them afterwards. How far was he willing to go to ensure their pleasure...

He was done and back up soon, grinning to himself like the cat that caught the cream.

Andrea followed him with her eyes as he moved to turn off the water, but since an idea, very sweet and quite hesitant, had wormed its way into her mind, she put a hand on his forearm and stopped him.

“Wait”, she pleaded.

Loki's eyes scanned her face instantly, “What is it?”.

Without thinking about it too much, maybe for the first time in her life, she held her palms up in front of him and with her best smile, she asked, “Can I... can I do the same for you?”.

Loki smirked at her, giving her the dirtiest once over she had ever felt tampering and crawling all over her skin. His sparkling eyes fell on her chest, where, by the stretch of her hands, her breasts were being squeezed by the pressure of her biceps. It was the most beautiful framing he had seen, as pale skin and strong muscle engulfed and held hostage the tenderness and rosiness of her feminine gifts. A heart-shaped invitation with the pinkiest, most erect beckons of arousal at the tops...

“Who am I to deny you anything...”, he hummed and obliged the request, quickly squeezing some gel onto her extended hands.

He approached her slowly, but she noticed that his step lacked the predatory intensity it usually had. He was moving with ease, almost as if he flew rather than walked upon a slippery tiled floor. Such calmness and feline sensation could only pass onto her and make her move with the same sensuality. How was it possible that his physical movement managed to correspond with her mentality?

She warmed the gel between her palms and very tentatively lathered it all over his chest. Under the devilish scrutiny of his eyes, she worked it into the skin, spreading and massaging it with a bit of occasional pressure when she sensed like he needed it. Yet the more she washed and felt and noticed things about his body the more she had to make sure...

“We take care of each other, right?”, she asked while taking her time to rub at the back of his neck and shoulders, listening to him groan and yield to her touch.

“Yes, darling”, he said and let his forehead drop onto hers.

“I take care of you, you take care of me”, Andrea specified, a bit afraid that maybe, just maybe, in another time, in an alternative universe which might wish to haunt them, things wouldn't be like that.

“Just you... and me...”, he assured her in a whisper full of desirous relaxation.

With a smile on her lips, she realised that his body wasn't as hard under the care of her hands. His voice softer and strained. For some reason, that filled her with pride and the sense of having tempted control away and snatched it off his hands made her eyes shine with deviousness.

Her hand skimmed further down his pack of muscles, noting with her fingers the shape and the outline of each abdominal and tense vein until she reached his lower parts. She stopped there, on the triangular valley of his belly and without thinking much scratched gently and with little pressure down the tiny path of hairs that led to his manhood. She turned her wrist upwards and teased him there, without fully realising that the act was indeed considered _teasing_.

His reaction was immediate and once she understood it, her eyes flew to his in a flash, determined to read and interpret.

Loki sucked his breath in as well as his belly the moment her nails left their tiny invisible marks on him. His eyes fell shut as if a default reaction to the surge of electricity through his body. Like the flicker of lights during a strong thunderstorm his lids opened and closed, ecstatic, blurry, lured into black depths which they could not escape. His cock was filling up, he could sense as much and her hand being so close to it made his resolve break time and time again. For the first time in his life, he didn't know if he could truly resist her if he could stop himself from getting release.

But he had too, otherwise all this progress with her tonight would prove futile.

He managed to control himself in a good enough degree in order to bring some humour into the interaction, something to lighten up the heaviness and sensuality of the atmosphere...

“Is this the part where you pretend you've no idea you arouse me?”, he chuckled.

Andrea's hand didn't move from its place and instead of answering him with words, she silenced him with a kiss.

She tangled her other hand in the hair behind his neck to pull him closer to her mouth before she opened her lips and drowned his in wetness and breath. The boldness of parting those luscious petals of lust, she didn't know where she found. He moaned in the kiss, something which made her pull away a little to inspect his reaction, fearful of having done something wrong.

However, when she gazed up at his finally open eyes, elation was all she was met with.

His hands came around her, grabbing her with such possessiveness as made her gasp. He encircled her lovingly, needily and before she could so much as utter a word, his lips came upon her like a flood of pure emotion.

Without understanding the nature of it, she parted her lips again. To her young mind, it was inexplicable why she felt so motivated to open up like this and have a deeper taste. A taste of his breath, his essence, his very soul. And when he started sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, into that cave she so yearned to explore on her own time, this feeling intensified and became action.

Her leg came up on its own volition and snaked around his strong thigh. The moment she lifted it, his hand was already on her bum, cupping and caressing and in the end, holding her flesh up with effortless ease. It was almost like a dance, where both of the dancers' minds are synced with their next step, no matter the slippery floor or the extensive usage of water. They were there, engaged in a defining moment of hissing music and raw physicality.   

 

Both her hands slid around his waist and temptingly glided down over his firm cheeks, where she wasted no time in grabbing him, as discreetly as possible of course, but it was nonetheless grabbing.

Her palms warmed up, her skin felt tingly and the satisfaction it gave her to lay hands on him so wantonly, manifested itself all over her face, where she not only blushed like a fool but laughed into his kiss as well.

Loki returned the dirty smile and opening his eyes he said, “Shall we move things over to the living room?”.

Andrea squeezed a cheek absent mindedly and licking her lips replied, “Why? Do you have plans there?”.

“As a matter of fact, I do, little dancer.”

“And what are they?”, she inquired curiously.

Loki then smirked and extricated himself from her arms, which, as he noticed, were rather firm around and on him, as if she had no desire to let him go, even if that meant standing up in the shower for the rest of her days. But he had something quite different in mind and he couldn't wait to inflict it upon her.

He turned off the water, interrupting the neverending hissing of it and watching her over his shoulder above the dispersing steams, he explained calmly, “I want to take care of you...”.

As soon as the distance was put between them, Andrea's hands came up to anchor right and left of her neck, a position which both secured her exposed breasts and at the same time offered her the chance to rub at her sore shoulders.

“Oh...”, she whispered, “Is that not what you've been doing...?”.

Her eyes were full of wonder and mystery, glistening through the steams, peering at him in sheer want but also restraint agony, an agony that he couldn't understand nor excuse.

“Intimately”, he clarified as he moved past her to grab a warm towel.

Take care of her... intimately? What did this mean? Was it not intimate enough that he had his fingers exploring up her pussy only moments ago unless he meant...

Brushing her hair back, he positioned the towel around her head and fixed it upwards so that it remained steady on the top. He did it so quickly, as if he had been doing it for ages, that she barely noted down the strangeness of it.

Grabbing another towel from somewhere behind her, he indicated with his gaze towards her arms. The command was clear so with only a bit of difficulty she lifted them away from her body.

With gentleness and care, he wrapped her up in the lengthy towel and rubbed at her sides with pressure to warm her up and dry her a bit, a shy smile all the while playing on her reddened lips. _My kissed lips_... she thought to herself.

“I don't know what that means”, she spoke honestly, bringing the subject up again.

He only smiled encouragingly and took a step back. She watched him go past her again and this time she turned around to face him properly. He wrapped a towel around his hips and loosely secured it lower down his waist. His alabaster body was stained with tiny water drops which slid down his skin and then slipped onto the floor. She marvelled at his beautiful glossy hair and how long it was, reaching past his shoulders, now that it was wet. He looked every bit of the God he was...

Coldness surrounded her and crawled over her spine now that he wasn't near, but not wanting to sound like a whiny baby she chose to remain silent about it and simply crossed her arms in front of her chest. 

He paced lazily towards the door leading back into the main area of the cabin and with a last glance at her over his shoulder, he winked and dared.

“In your own time, my love, come and find out.”

 

 

 

 


	33. unleashed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up where they left off, Andrea and Loki move on to a more intimate exploration of their bodies. She begins to understand hers deeper, while he is finally given that which he's been waiting for so long. Her uninhibited surrender and pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Happy Holidays and Happy New Year since I won't see you with another update before the new year arrives. How does it feel that you're getting this... rather unholy gift just at the turn of the year? Ho ho ho, I'm such a hoe. I hope it's not full of typos though! 
> 
> I sincerely apologize that it took so long to compile this. Truth been told, I didn't really have that much stuff for uni the days before we closed for the holidays. I was just not okay to be doing pretty much anything. There were days when I woke up, saw the bloody English weather and my brain sort of decided on its own to just shut down again and go back to sleep. Honestly, my body would hurt all over from the lack of movement and yet I would just cry and force myself back to sleep. I was a mess and not even the thought of writing smut was able to cheer me up. And the worst of all is that I had no idea why it was happening, I still don't. Generally, now I feel much better, especially because I'm back home for the holidays (where the sun loves us so much that it shines almost 24/7 on our faces) but trust me, these feelings of giving up still linger. 
> 
> A little important note: In this chapter, Loki sort of implies a few things about the general aspect of bodies and love. Just to remind you that this is how I chose to depict him and these are the opinions that I chose to attribute to him. In short, I made him as I wanted him, period. However, in some cases where his opinions are phrased quite strongly, I can't say that I totally agree, which is okay. I can certainly disagree with the characters, there is no issue with that. But, to get to the point, in this chapter there is talk of pubic hair, which I suppose you all know it's quite the taboo subject. Please, help lift this taboo, help stop it. I'm sick and tired of hearing men (or women) hating and preaching against the naturality of the body. It makes me want to cry. We should accept people the way they are and not force our own preferences upon them. If you want to be natural, then be. If you want to be waxed to perfection, be waxed to perfection. It... is... okay. However, ehehe, Loki's opinion in this chapter is quite... discriminating and you'll see what I mean when you read. Sorry if I'm being dramatic. There is more to this outburst of mine but I can't explain it right now. More details when the next chapter comes. 
> 
> *As always, pictures and gifs are borrowed from the web, therefore all rights belong to their respective owners. I put in there some spicy ones to cheer you all up! This is my coping mechanism. I can't help myself so I'm helping others. 
> 
> Again, happy holidays and a happy new year to all of you! Many kisses!

_What am I supposed to do?_

Andrea eyed herself in the mirror above the small sink, her mind racing with insecurities, possibilities, doubts, chances, opportunities, desires and more. She took a deep breath through her nose and slowly let it out through her mouth. As the breath was released she closed her eyes and remembered his touch, his words and his eyes, most of all his eyes.

 _In your own time, my love, come and find out._ Deep inside she knew why he had phrased it like that, as a dare. It wasn't. He wasn't forcing her to do anything she didn't want to. His tone hadn't been mocking or inconsiderate. On the contrary, he had spoken slowly, understandably and his eyes...

She opened hers and focused on the reflection of her rosy face. His eyes had been dripping with affection the whole time. When he'd taken care of her when he'd touched her intimately, when he'd addressed her and vanquished all her second thoughts. And yet there had been desire in them too and it was a type of desire that confused her in the extreme. Should she be scared of it? Should she let her excitement shine bright? She was torn between her genuine emotion and the feelings she thought necessary to feel.

 _You think you need to serve me innocence on a silver plate_. His words had been crude but honest. _But you're not innocent, Andrea_. How right he was, she couldn't put into words. It was true and he already knew it that her body was untouched, - until tonight-, but thoughts, depraved, twisted, rawly natural thoughts, desires and impurities were all locked up, nestled in a boundless orgy in the depths of her mind. How many times had she had thoughts of him touching her as he liked, with or without her verbal consent? How many times had she dreamt of him fucking her so deep that she failed to stand up afterwards? And how many times had he been a secret privy when she had these thoughts?

She blushed hard as she considered and immediately brought a hand up to her face to hide her shame. She rubbed in on her eyelids, sniffed, sighed, paced up and down the relatively small bathroom but still, she could reach no decision.

_What do we have here?_

_Later, love. I promise._

These had been his words. They were still ringing in her ears, making her crouch and coil. She had so enjoyed them at that moment but now they only served as further validation of her suspicion.

 _I want to take care of you. Intimately_.

He was going to take her. She was positive. And she couldn't even blame him for wanting it right there and then. All that time they had spent together, getting to know each other to bits, squeezing information out, learning what made each other flip, understanding their strengths and weaknesses, it was all leading up to this.

But she wasn't ready yet. This wasn't her crippling anxiety about everything speaking. This was the only sane thought she could claim certainty of. And she needed to tell him. She needed to stop this plan of his, wherever it would lead them and openly express herself. He would expect no less of her. But how to master the courage to deny him this simple joy? He had been waiting for her for so long now and it would come across disturbingly ungrateful if she backed off. She yearned to please him but she wasn't ready to bear the consequences of it just yet. She had only just kissed him, just got to know what her man's touch felt like on her womanly parts.

She stopped in front of the mirror again and willed herself to calm down and think it through one more time, not caring at all how much had passed since he had left her alone in the bathroom. This was her choice and she would take as much time as she saw fit.

Rubbing the edge of her brow, immersed in anxious thoughts, she was torn between straightforwardly telling him she was not ready for such a step or shutting up and going with the flow.

Her forest green eyes, cloudy with insecurity, swept over her towelled figure, lingering only a little on the places she'd been touched this far. Shyly she choked a laugh and went over them with her own hand. And simply like that, the insecurity somehow lessened.

Andrea trailed her neck with the tips of her fingers, following the twisting course of her thin veins until they disappeared from view somewhere near the proud collarbones. Her own touch made her shiver delightfully for it reminded her of him.

Her eyes stayed glued to the mirror while she drew the towel down, its reassuring texture teasingly grazing her peaked nipples. They were rosy like flowers and tight as if someone had peppered them with frozen kisses. She cupped a firm breast and squeezed it lightly and ran her thumb over those coloured peaks like he had done. She recognised her breast, her emblem of femininity but there was also something different about it now. It wasn't just hers anymore. It might have been at first but now it also belonged to someone else. The new realisation perplexed her though it made perfect sense. She searched her memory briefly but could only faintly recollect times when her neck hadn't been associated with the authority of his lips sucking at the skin, turning it purple and claiming it between sharp teeth. Perhaps this emblem in her grasp had only been a wobbly and erect muscle, an extension of her chest before it was presented with the chance to bloom as breast. This chance had been the allowance of his touch. A touch unique and defining, even though most feminists would raise a war against that.

Opening the towel wider, she let her hand explore one last place, a place she had visited many times before within the shadows of her room and the protection of only one pillow to muffle her sighs of pleasure. She gently tugged at the patch of hair that adorned her mound, wincing slightly but also loving the fact that for the very first time she was immaculately aware of her body and the soul within it. As a girl, she had always been so very detached from reality because it was reality she wanted to escape. But not now. Now, as she slid her fingers through her pussy lips, her eyes drifting shut from the sensation of the swollen wetness, the eye of her mind opened and looked inwards, reflecting on all the strengths and weaknesses of her heart.

By this, she was firmly led to the belief that before taking someone else inside her, she needed to first get to know herself. Her sensual self. In a deeper, stronger way. She had to familiarise herself with the ways of pleasure and _his_ specific tastes before accepting to receive them through the slight tear, the absolute pain she was so terrified of. This, he had to understand and if he couldn't, she would make him.

She rewrapped the towel around her with pursed lips and determined eyebrows and with a deep breath, stepped out of the bathroom.

As her bare feet made contact with the cold and harsh wooden floor and her curious eyes went over all the spaces and points of warm light in the room nothing in the world, nothing at all could have prepared her for the cosiness and beauty she was treated to.

The soft yellowy glow the cabin previously sported had been replaced by darkness that made the one and only source of light in the room shine brighter and cast its reddish shadows like a warm coat of paint over the nearest furniture. The crackling of the fire was quite loud in the silence of everything and its gently raging flames so strong and bright in contrast to the dark that, for a minute, it seemed like everything was burning. Only by squinting she could discern that since there was only one point of light, all else was inevitably larger and accentuated.

The stone base that shielded the flames in was decorated in wax candles of different sizes but of one distinct smell, she adored. Vanilla and since wood was burning in such close proximity, smoke and ash as well. She took a deep breath in, closing her eyes happily as she exhaled. A more perfect combination was impossible.

Fur blankets and woolly quilts of dark brown and blinding white were spread out on the floor with a few extremely welcoming and puffy pillows scattered here and there to further emphasize the feeling of home and cosiness. She took a step closer and the floor squeaked but she didn't care to attract attention. She only wished to collapse straight down on the fluffiness and warmth of the scene in front of her and go into hibernation for the rest of her life.

She had already spotted Loki amongst the immense cuddly fortress. He was kneeling down, one hand supporting him on the stone while the other stocked the fire and made it bigger and longer lasting. Her eyes took him in eagerly, so much so that she felt her insides quiver. His hair was a little damp and hang past his shoulders, straight and slick like a horse's mane. The towel was still secured around his waist allowing her only the view of his marble calves as well as the dimples at the end of his spine. The shadows were hitting them in a way that made them darker and deeper and consequently, a bodily feature that had once struck her as cute now looked feral and posed as a sign of virility and strength.

She moved forward so that her frozen feet could step on the furry blankets, her hands tightening around herself although she was far from cold. He turned his head up, meeting her face with a bright smile that caught her off guard. There was no annoyance in it, or playful devilishness, even though the fire lit his face rather strangely, making him look exactly like the horned devil he was. She dared say she had expected at least a little bit exasperation after all the while she had made him wait.

“There you are.”

His voice was low, almost an auditory extension of the crackling fire.

But for a light hum and a side smile, Andrea remained silent.

Loki rubbed his hands against his towel covered thighs to get rid of the smoke and wood and rose up to his full height. He turned around and his eyes, unfortunately, fell on green forests of gloominess and doubt. She had been overthinking again. All the symptoms were there, predictable and unwanted. But what could he do?

“What is it?”, he asked, his voice coated in concern.

His hands came up to touch her, one settling on her neck and the other on her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, turning her head so that she could lay a small kiss on his palm. And yet for all the sweetness of the gesture and the flash of red on her cheeks, her brow was furrowed, her lips apart and adorned with sighs.

“Loki, I...”, she began but stopped, “I... this is... all so beautiful.”

A tiny grin reached his lips, “You approve?”.

She nodded wearily, “Yeah.”

He didn't like the way she spoke it. It was so exhausted and her breath shook as it landed on the skin of his jaw. By now, he could tell by its rhythm when something out of sorts was going through her head.

“What's on your mind, beloved?”.

Andrea dragged her eyes up to his and the only thing that encouraged her to speak was the affection and the patience in them. He was always so very patient with her that it made her feel bad about confessing her worry.

“What... what are you...”, she stuttered, the very words making her anxiety rise, “What does 'take care of you' mean?”.

Loki kept his eyes on her and insisted, with his grip tightening, that she do the same. He leaned forward close to her lips, his hot breath tickling her all over, initiating mayhem of shivers and goosebumps.

“That is not the question you want to ask”, he teased, already aware of her great worry.

Andrea took a deep breath and blurted out, “What will you do to me?”.

He hummed and tilted his head, “Closer, but not quite there.”

She huffed and whined, twisting her toes on the blanket while seething in embarrassment. He was trying to draw it out of her, to make her say things again precisely the way they were, exactly how she had them in her mind. Admittedly, she didn't like this habit of his but lightning strike her down if it didn't make her all hot and wet...

Her eyes dropped to his alabaster chest where the skin was now dried yet soft and looked deliciously warm and like the perfect place to snuggle.

“Will you... will you make... love to me?”, she asked tremulously, her stomach dropping in seas of agony.

The way she said it made her wince. Why spoken with such terror? As if it was something bad and unwanted. It wasn't. But she was too trapped in her own head to look at him and explain her actual meaning. It seemed like all the preparation she had in the bathroom had been erased from memory and she was now standing stock still, with the words stuck in her throat, her sole lifeline the friction of his caressing hand on her neck.

Loki nudged at her with his nose and smiled as he brushed his lips against hers. Her attention was intrigued. Those self-tortured green eyes were back on him, her alarmingly loudly beating heart just a little closer to his body. He let silence make some of the talking for a short while as he played with potential ways to reply.

Andrea was not the only one who had her worries. He was also concerned about her understanding of certain concepts. She was, after all, so young and her knowledge of sexuality and bodies was thankfully quite wide. But not as wide as he would like it to be. She had freed her mind from superstition but he wished to elevate and expand it though he knew not how. Not yet at least. He struggled to communicate his point more often than she thought. She was always of the belief that words were his area of expertise, that he was excellent in taking an intricate subject and simplifying it in a way that she understood it. But there were times when he, even as a God, found difficulty in expressing everything to her simply because certain things don't require words but a special kind of freedom to feel and experience. How could he lead her down such paths if she was so intimidated by the inexpressible?

He drew her closer to him with a sneaky and firm arm around her waist while the hand on her neck slid behind at the nape, holding her gently in place. Some strands of hair had escaped the confines of the towel and by the way they hugged his knuckles he could tell they were electrified.

“On a scale from one to ten, how anxious did you get yourself that I would?”, he phrased, having chosen his words with extreme care. This was a delicate subject to him so he needed to guide her towards his point as steadily as he could.

“Eleven”, Andrea cajoled, relieved by the playfulness in his tone. After all that silence, she was sure scolding was in order.

“Why, little dancer?”.

She took a deep breath and clutched at the towel around her, “Because I... I'm not... ready for that kind of contact, Loki. I'm sure I want it with you but I think I want... I want...”, she left her sentence unfinished.

He shushed her softly with a feather kiss upon her lush lips. He teased them apart and toyed with them individually, wetting them with his tongue ever so lightly. She shivered in his arms, a reaction that he very much enjoyed although she didn't kiss him back.

Being slightly caught off guard she stood still in his hold and delighted in the pressure of his mouth, offering only her compliance and sighs as gratitude. She thought it insane how it was only her fourth or fifth kiss and yet she felt so in tune with it as if her brain had already adapted in accepting this new attention. The naturality of it was astounding and made her go limp against her man.

Without detaching his mouth from hers, he whispered, “This might confuse you even more, little dancer, but... I've been making love to you since the first time you allowed me to touch you.”

Andrea drew away, a million calculations in absolute frenzy appearing in front of her wide eyes. She frowned and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, to contradict the statement. Nothing came out though, therefore she simply stood in awe, gazing at him in complete bamboozlement. What was he talking about?

Loki chuckled playfully as he observed how lost she looked. It was a guilty pleasure of his to often use the simplest words to make her wonder and question and then form that childish expression with her features that contrasted with her womanliness so much that she looked like a comic character.

“I don't... I don't understand”, she breathed out, her eyes blurring with moisture. She didn't like being in the dark and right now all was pitch black. Or maybe... she was the one refusing to see.

“Do you trust me enough to let me show you, beloved?”.

She nodded quickly, almost enthusiastically, eager to emerge from the darkness into the light of knowledge, no matter the final result or the cost.

In seconds he swang her round, his muscles tensing where he held her and lowered her down onto the soft quilts and pillows. She gasped and giggled despite her nervous state. His heart swelled from her lovely sounds. If joy was liquid, he was being injected with it to the point of bursting and if love, which he had vowed never to give, was air, he found himself generously gasping it out as though he couldn't hold it inside any longer.

He was smiling his biggest smile as he arranged her on top of the furry blankets, which he knew she loved. Placing a pillow under her head to make her more comfortable and pressing a sweet kiss on her cheek, he talked to her about his special love making.

“Tell me, my love, when you use that phrase what does it mean to you?”.

Andrea furrowed her brows and wiggled her lower body, the crackling fire warming her deliciously. Her eyes were on him as he lay next to her on his side with a hand under his head. He peered down at her with such patience in his gaze that she had the distinct feeling that this was a matter of definition and meaning.

She placed her hands on her belly and busied herself with picking at towel threads. When in moderately uncomfortable positions with him she always needed to be doing something with her hands. But he distracted her by laying his hand flat above her breast. The spot grew warmer instantly and under his palm, her heartbeat picked up rhythm.

“It's... fucking...”, she stuttered, turning her head on the other side to look at the fire instead of him, “... but phrased romantically.”

He sighed and grinned at the statement. As he had suspected, their definitions did not align.

His hand moved from her heart to her cheek, spreading goosebumps all over her damp body. He tilted her head towards him, forcing her to meet his eyes once more. There was still cloudiness in them, doubt, and he wasn't overly fond of it. There were times when he liked to perplex her, make her reconsider, urge her on to reach the right conclusion by herself in a chilled and playful manner. But this wasn't one of those times.

He shook his head negatively, his mouth compressed in a hard line.

Andrea swallowed thickly, “I'm... very wrong... right?”.

His lips contorted into a smirk and his eyes reflected the fire in the hearth. Once more, he looked otherworldly, “No. Just not totally right.”

She blinked in surprise at his words, not fully sure she was grasping the point but at the same time, a bit elated that she was partly correct and didn't sit right there like an ignorant fool.

Suddenly his hand was not at her cheek anymore. The slight friction was descending to her collarbone and from there to the towel around her chest. A tiny gasp fled her lips, the anticipation building up in her stomach, weighing her down to the floor. The fire was hissing on one side, his humming and breathing soothed her on the other. She was nailed down between the raging warmth and the sweet agony of the moment and the strangest thing was... she didn't want to coil away.

“You see, my beloved...”, he began, gently tugging at the towel until it unfolded, “... love making and fucking have one thing in common, that is true. But they have so many little differences that make each unique. Do you want to know what the little differences are?”.

He brushed the towel aside, baring her beautiful breasts to his hungry eyes. Andrea shifted a little in her place, the sudden exposition and the incredible warmth inside her chest and tummy, constant reminder of her vulnerability. She felt the unquenchable need to cover herself but held back, knowing it in her heart that he wouldn't approve. Instead, she hummed positively in answer to his question while within her a thousand little agonies were at war.

He had touched her breasts only quarters of hours ago and yet her enchanted eyes still drifted shut, her heart still pounded like a war drum when his forefinger skimmed over a taut nipple, temporarily pressing it inwards until it sprung up again, tighter than before. He kept doing it, occasionally circling the outline of her breast until he would return his focus to the nipple, teasing it into full bloom. Her breaths were gasps, coherent thoughts impossible to form, her skin pure gooseflesh.

His voice engulfed her then, gently tweaking her senses alongside the bursting and crackle in the hearth.

“Love making belongs in a wider spectrum of things, little dancer. Love making is just that. Creating love through intimacy... and proximity... and my need to pleasure you before myself. Love making is a daily mission that targets not only the pleasure of your body but also...”, there he stopped his teasing and cupped the underside of her breast, “... the pleasure of your heart. And you know very well that I don't have to be inside you to achieve that. Making love is taking care of, understanding your need, acting upon it by putting you first. It is exploring you with no ulterior purpose. Go back to each time we've touched each other, times we've talked, times when we've teamed up and were unstoppable together and tell me...”, he dragged the towel further down, his hand roaming over her stomach, grasping her waist, holding her close to him, “... is that not what we've been doing?”.

Her mind was in a haze but she had to admit his logic made sense. And if it made sense, then...

She drew in a shaky breath, “Then I've been selfish.”

Loki chuckled, “No, my love, you haven't.”

She dropped the subject, for now, deciding on the spot that she would bring it up later.

“Turn on your stomach”, she heard him whisper, his voice so close to her ear that she almost jumped.

She did as requested and rolled over, her cheeks flaming when she felt the protection of the towel slipping away from her body. The warmth of the flames licked at her exposed bottom and thighs tenderly, leaving her ticklish and deliciously scorched.

Loki carefully unwrapped the towel around her hair and gently tugged at them.

“Up on your elbows”.

She did so and immediately saw him pushing the pillow under her breasts and stomach. She smiled shyly at his thoughtfulness before she felt his large hand pressing her down again. It was a flitting action, his hand pushing her between the shoulder blades and yet the authoritativeness of it made her throb inside. His current ways screamed of manhandling and as much as she wanted to protest against it, deep down she desired it more than she could admit.

She stretched and wrapped her arms around the pillow, cosily rubbing her cheek against it, feeling its soft texture. Before stilling herself, she wiggled around a bit to avoid some uncomfortably weird placement of her breasts and then waited in silence and total obedience for his next methodical moves or commands.

She gasped in surprise when she sensed hands on her hips. He pulled them up just a bit and when he let them back down, her mound and hipbones were instantly embraced by the softness of another puffy pillow. Then the same strong hands slid under her upper thighs and gently, slowly dragged them apart. She whined a little purring sound as he forced her into complete vulnerability, what with her soft bits exposed, all out to him to stare and do with as he pleased. Although she soon realised that the space between her legs wasn't as wide as she had thought he would make it. He wanted her balancing on the thin rope between shame and pleasure and the position he had put her in served both.

“Shh, it's alright, my love”, he cooed gently, running his fingers through her still wet hair to soothe her anxiety away, “I wish you could see how lovely you look like that. Are you comfortable enough?”.

She sighed in resignation and admitted it. The position he had put her in wasn't at all uncomfortable. On the contrary. The placement of the pillows under her was just right to protect her softer bits as well as her bones from hard contact with the blanketed floor. The chance she was presented with to hug both pillows, with both arms and legs, was the greatest comfort and the perfect opportunity to snuggle and relax. On second thought and as she wiggled her somewhat elevated butt, her legs were not obscenely wide. They were apart just enough to make her feel the shifts of the air against her already lubricated pussy lips and opening and to allow him a full unadulterated view. The thought made her blush furiously...

Gathering her hair away from her shoulders and face, Loki leant forward to kiss her softly. His first seductive attack was on the edge of her shoulder, his second on her cheek and one more at the side of her jaw. He saw her lips part in expectation so when he took her lower one into his mouth and sucked, she welcomed him with her sighs and playful gasps.

“Loki...”, she whispered against his lips.

In response he hummed, a little drunk on the taste and smell of her.

“What about fucking me... when will that happen?”.

He chuckled and let his cheekbone collide with hers, “When I deem you're ready.”

“Oh, when _you_ deem I'm ready”, she challenged, closing her eyes in utter bliss, slowly losing her inhibition. He was so close to her, so intimate with her on a level she was beginning to get used to that, steadily, her natural shyness was being replaced with boldness.

“I would trust your own judgement but you are so horny around me that, you must understand, I can't”, he confessed, a wide grin spreading all over his smug face.

“ _You_ are horny around me too. How many times has that thing poked me in the back?”, she dared him, her voice crispy and so raw that she didn't recognise it straight of.

The result of her cheekiness was a playful tug at her hair and a sharp slap against her ass that sounded much louder than she thought possible. She had also not expected to moan from it.

“ _I,_ however, can control it. You can't. Not yet. But worry not my darling”, he scolded, a burst of evil laughter hidden between his words, “Discipline and patience can be taught.”

This silenced her, though it sent her heart reeling over a precipice that had nothing to do with pleasure but everything to do with desire and anticipation.

“Now no more talking”, with a last warning tug at her hair, he let her head drop gently back to the cushiony pillow, “Let me love you. And please, feel free to moan again. It's one of the loveliest sounds you make for me, little dancer.”

She buried her face in the pillow and whined in utter shame. Of course he had heard her reaction and obviously, he would tease her endlessly about it. The sting and the light burn in her arse cheek were aching a bit, reminding her of her naughtiness and for some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that she craved one more. One more burning slap, one more and then perhaps she would be content...

But no more slaps would be administered at this hour because now, it was time for relaxation and submission.

When his hands swept over her back, they were greasy with some oil that smelled as wonderfully as the shower gel they had used earlier on each other. He lathered her in it and then before she had the chance to make any comments, he applied such delicious pressure on the sides of her spine that all words flew out in gasps and singing moans.

Vertebrae by vertebrae he expelled the tenseness and stiffness away, guiding her closer and closer to painful euphoria. Andrea arched her spine and the more he touched her, the more she pushed her hips towards him, seeking and wanting.

“Agh, fuck...”, she exhaled exasperatedly, only just now realising how much she needed this.

“Norns, little one, it is like I'm touching stones. We need to do this more often”, she heard him say from somewhere afar.

“Yeesss... please”, she almost screamed as he pressed a particular spot that cracked.

During the release of the uncomfortable roughness in her spine, the sounds that left her mouth were foregrounded and drowned out all others. Even the persistent crackling of the fire. Even his gentle orders to give into him and relax.

He massaged from her shoulders down to her tailbone and back up again until her frustrated cries had turned into sighs of complete relaxation and pleasure. The toughest spot to soothe was her waist for this was the place where all her stress gathered and festered. Often she would sit wrongly or slouch and all the heaviness of the day would weigh her down there and after that, there was usually nothing she could do but take it. But his dominant touch, his persistent thumbs wouldn't let it go numb with pain and so aided by the hotness of the oil he rubbed all the anxiety away, vanquished it and made her whole body melt deeper into the pillows.

From time to time, she couldn't help but hump them shamelessly, desperate to relieve another ache, a desirous and traitorous one that was rapidly beginning to develop between her legs. The needy bud at the top of her womanhood pulsed and demanded and since the texture of the pillow was the only available soother, she used it as discreetly as possible.

At some point, Loki's evil chuckles interrupted her and realising that he was watching her intently she ceased moving her hips and shied away.

“No, darling, don't stop”, he immediately chastised, placing a hand on her hip to encourage her to continue.

“I'm sorry. It's fine, I'll stay still”, she mumbled out and refrained from looking at his face over her shoulder.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. Please, my love”, he urged on, kneading a voluptuously sexy arse cheek, “I love to watch you.”

That and the boiling pleasure of his touch, so possessive over her, groping and sampling her goods, got her to reconsider and slowly, shyly, she began to move again when she felt in need of it. She didn't stop again, not even to think about that huge, wet blotch she had marked the pillow with...

She was a breathless sobbing mess by the time he was done with her back. Joyful tears were springing from her closed, tired eyes and wetted the pillow, short, elated breaths fighting their way out of her lungs.

She jerked slightly when his breath hit the nape of her neck but when his hot lips sealed around her skin to grace her with the gentlest kiss, her nerve endings became liquid once more and joined the river of the rest of her senses. Time slowed down for her, external time, and another type of clock began to languidly tick within her. One that she wasn't anxious about or fretted. Its hands pointed at nowhere in particular and its sound instead of being urging was soothing and lulled her closer to the land of the asleep and blissful.

Loki covered her in kisses and playful love bites, decorating her straw coloured skin with the evidence of his joy and triumph. Neck, shoulders, spine, waist, nothing remained unmarked, unsullied by the pressure of his mouth. And each time she rewarded him with a giggly sigh or a deep breath or a whimper of pure delight that sparked his member into action and kept him on the searing edge of bursting all over her.

And he wasn't even over yet.

Warming more oil between his palms he set sail for her damn long legs that were stretched even outside the blankets and pillows. Just before he touched them, he marvelled at them, tracing their veins and tendons and muscle and softer bits with his eyes before he gave his hands the chance to do the same. A lecherous smirk broke out on his lips as he briefly brought to memory that time he had drawn the hot bath for her. How lovely she had looked, how ravishing she looked now...

 _Hey sailor_ , she had said, so spontaneously, with almost childlike joy.

Smiling to himself he delved into the next stage of his master plan to satisfy her and took his time spreading the oil over her ass and backs of her enticing thighs. His wandering hands massaged and rubbed her until she keened until her breathing quickened, though her pulse was slowing down, until her sensitive skin was left red, smooth and deeply moisturised. He cupped her cheeks, he squeezed and pushed up so that all points of pressure lower in her spine would be activated and then forced into reflexive release. She gasped at the sensation and as he gathered the mass of skin and pushed forward again, she pushed backwards, arching her spine to further surrender to the twisting feeling of the stretch.

“Good girl”, he praised, placing a soft kiss on each cheek.

She giggled and blushed all over from the sweet contact. With her face shoved into the comfortable pillow, she had no view of him therefore whatever he did came as a surprise to her, felt more intense upon her body. Intense and real.

His hands' next target were her calves which were so tense and achy that it was as if someone had sliced them open, deposited stones against the bones and then stretched them up again. He hadn't even applied enough pressure and she was groaning already.

Swiftly, more oil sprouted out of the pores of his skin to make the glide easier.

“Andrea, darling, how do you walk so lightly when you're so heavy inside?”, he inquired softly, his tone a mix of curiosity and sadness.

But she wasn't in the state of mind to form coherent sentences and so simply shrugged and gave out a long sigh.

“Well...”, Loki continued as he gathered close and flipped her on her back, eliciting a contented moan from her, “... thank you for trusting me in taking some of those burdens off.”

She smiled at him, her healthy, plump cheeks red as blood. A flitting look down her body made her aware of her position and bareness which led those sneaky hands of hers to travel down her chest. She knew there was nothing she could do for her womanhood but at least she could salvage her none existent breasts.

In her defence, she tried to do it as discreetly as possible but Loki noticed anyway. His gaze was immediately attracted to the movements of her hands but despite this and the smoky grin on his lips, -because of it-, he said nothing at all. She was more than free to maintain modesty and cover herself. He knew it wouldn't last long. Besides, the very image of her looking so vulnerable and exposed sparked a fire dangerous and fast at the pit of his stomach. He shivered for more.

With outstanding ease and methodic care, he snaked an arm under her hips and raised her up so that he could arrange the pillow again. Once that was done he placed her carefully on top. She snuggled down, wiggling her bum deliciously, making herself comfortable and all the while she smiled the smile of a woman who knows she's special to someone.

The darkness in his eyes was disconcerting but at the same time familiar. He was slowly, painfully eating her up with his gaze, appreciating, feasting, savouring sacredly. His mouth watered instantly when he caught the smell of her arousal. His member twitched angrily from the way her thorax swelled every time she breathed in and out. The oils mixed with her own unique body scent had his nostrils flaring. Her shapely collarbones called to him, serenated him, lured him away from rationality. Her pressed together thighs and the dark curls in between drove him into a type of madness from which he didn't know if he could come back.

“You're beautiful”, he half growled dragging his eyes up to hers, wishing her to somehow understand how difficult her mere existence, naked and so close to him, was making it for him and his tight control.

Andrea's stomach churned in delight, flopped down to a belly filled to the brim with desire and anticipation. His voice was fucking her senses raw. So full of gruff, so strained but nonetheless distinct, infused with a kind of anger or agony that she didn't recognise. For a minute she thought she'd imagined him saying it, growling it almost in a hoarse whisper for this couldn't have been the voice of her lover. Of her Loki.

With eyes wide like oceans, bright as stars, she understood.

He wanted her. Though she didn't have much time to ponder over it.

His dexterous fingers moistened again and the same aromatic oil was being massaged into her sore knees. Following in awe the movements of his fingers, she soon realised that his task wasn't easy what with her legs being extended straight and his position having to be by them. She opened her mouth to suggest a different position but before the first word was out she saw him shake his head, bend her knee and ducking under it, placed himself between her legs in no time.

She gasped and writhed under his erotic grasp, this new spreading of her naked body, too unfamiliar to immediately accept. He got on his knees and stood tall, looming over her, gathering her legs as he went so that they were straight up against his chest, her body forming a ninety degree angle once in place. Her feet were tucked on either side of his neck, upon broad shoulders that rose and fell with every bit of breath.

For a while both of them remained silent, their breathing the only sound in the room, the flames reflecting in their green eyes, the only thing that could be trusted.

Then Loki broke the unspeaking torment with the smooching sound of a sweet kiss, one on each delicate ankle while his hands skimmed up and down her strong calf bones. Goosebumps broke out all over her upright legs and instead of feeling warmth, her skin shivered and cooled. Andrea couldn't have that. She wanted more contact, more skin, more warmth. But dare she ask to be touched more?

She chewed on her lower lip, her eyes never leaving his ecstatic face.

“Loki...”, she breathed out and it was as if it wasn't her saying it.

Something inside her had been replaced. Maybe she had been replaced altogether by someone else, she wasn't sure.

He focused on her, his gaze so penetrating that she felt pain while asking...

“... more...”, she purred, her heart telling her to give into this, her brain scolding that she was being greedy.

Loki didn't make the same distinctions in his mind though. Pleasure was pleasure. Care was care. Love was... what was love to him? He scanned her unashamedly, noticing with half a mind how her skin glowed under the light of the fire. Like liquid gold being hit by the sunlight. Her hands were squeezing her breasts as if she was trying to milk her desire and turn it over to him for nourishment. Heavy-lidded eyes, he noted down, how dilated her pupils must be under those long lashes...

And as he observed all this, he thought just how delusional desire makes us, both gods and men. How easily we fall into traps. How effortless it is for truth to be replaced by a lie. An illusion.

 _Cast enough illusions and you risk forgetting what's real_ , his mother had cautioned. Was he casting lies? Was he believing his own enchantments? Was he weaving spells, his power having gone out of control somehow? Was he seeing what he wanted to see?

He spread her legs as gently as he could, lowering one to the furry blankets, keeping the other over his shoulder as he bent down, his firm body hovering over hers for only a bit before he laid his weight on top of her entirely. Stomach on stomach, belly on belly, breast to breast, since her hands flew away to welcome him into her embrace, to tangle in his raven mane and bring him closer, almost like a mother welcoming her long-lost child back into her bosom.

He supported himself on his elbows, one hand around her head so that he could fist his fingers in her hair. He needed to see her. Truly see her, feel deep inside him that she was _his_.

Andrea opened her eyes and stared right into his soul, got under his skin and blended in his bone and marrow. She left him no chance but to present himself naked as well. Truthful. Candid. Honest. Insecure. All with her eyes. Her lower body was obscenely opened and stretched, she felt it, but she didn't care. As long as he was lying on top, his hard chest melting into hers, protecting her from the cold, sharing with her all he couldn't yet say, she was comfortable that any position of any kind was familiar and accepted.

Suddenly, as if in the spur of the moment, he leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers, gave them a quick lick, salivating their lushness teasingly. Her fingers twisted around his hair strands.

“You ache for me, don't you, woman?”, he rasped then.

Andrea nodded yes, her cheeks reddening upon confessing.

He hummed, “You ache, yes... but you will never ask me.”

She shook her head no, chills running down her spine. The heaviness in his voice, the underlying malice was too much of a temptation.

He chuckled at her answer and shook his head in disbelief. Black tendrils tickled her shoulders and she giggled with him, quickly looking away from his smug countenance. In elation, she thought that the bastard was right. She was a tough cookie, not one to beg, not one to easily give into. She would never ask for release even if it was more that obvious and tangible how she rubbed her pussy against the towel about his hips.

“Oh, I will break you eventually”, he bragged, the biggest grin on his lips, “I will bend you to my will, little dancer.”

His mouth was suddenly on her neck, biting and sucking the skin purple with lust. White sparks shot behind her lids as the blood gathered around the teased skin, pushing the colour of eros outwards. Her leg shifted from the blankets and, as if of its own accord, draped itself over his ass, pressing him against her core. The rising heat of her blood penetrated his ribs, his chest and rejuvenated his cold heart, shooting sparks, lighting him too on fire.

Conquered by the change in her body, he dragged his eyes from her sweaty temple to her parted lips and grinning to himself he divulged, “And you're already loving every second of it.”

Andrea would have sighed in resignation if he hadn't crashed his lips on hers, stealing her breath away, or rather taking it willingly inside him. She lay still and pliant underneath him, feeling everything at once. His wet tongue teasing her lips apart, gaining entrance to her entire mouth to glide against hers. Her gasp at the new contact, the slow burn at the pit of her stomach once wetness slid against wetness. Tongues are a tool of speech, so they were speaking to one another. Eyes, for theirs, were brightly open and focused as they talked, are the secret entrances to the soul, so they understood each other. Underneath the breast is where the heart resides, so they sought out the location with their hands, found safe passage and settled down, in a new home. He cupped her breast with a palm that was once more oozing flowery oils and she slid her hand from his neck down to his chest, feeling it heat up, something inside it calling to her.

She could feel everything at once. The slowness, the deliberate time he took to lavish her mouth with adoration, the hotness of his saliva mingling with her own, the exchanging of breath, so vital for their survival. She had been half expecting him to come down on her like a raging river on a rainy day. Bombastic, rough, uncaring of details, impatient to join the sea. Instead, he was like a hot spring. Warm, safe, relaxing, soothing, cleansing and pure. He kissed her like that and similar to how your body lets go when dipped in bubbling hot water, Andrea went limp and let him take control.

The hot spring soon transformed into a waterfall, whose sweet waters cascaded along her jawline, down the column of her throat, above her collarbones, while the most delicious pressure was being applied on her small breasts. Then she felt teeth grazing over the tenderness of one tight nub, which rose to further attention. He licked it with the tip of his tongue and Andrea could swear she had been dreaming if only her own loud moan hadn't made her open her eyes to look down at herself.

Loki's mouth was over the firm breast, fondling it, loving it, playing it to his heart's delight. She'd never seen a man dedicating such attention to a mere nipple, much less experienced it, therefore when he bent his head and took the little nub into his mouth, sucking at it as if in search of milk, her jaw dropped to her sternum in utter amazement. The pleasure came instantly and for the first time, she felt as though breast and sex were linked by some nerve biologists hadn't yet discovered. Her hands abandoned him entirely and grabbed at the furry blankets, tense fingers twisting the soft fabrics, trying to hold onto reality.

“F-fuck...”, she choked out, her eyes shutting abruptly, her mouth a big O.

He stopped sucking and marked a path of kisses towards her other breast, taking her leg off his shoulder so that he could reach up better and without stretching her beyond her power.

“Does this give you pleasure?”, he teased, his voice so innocent that it came across dirty as hell.

Andrea couldn't speak. She couldn't even think. She couldn't even discern where the pleasure was being felt the most. Where was each body part really? What was he touching now? Nothing? Well, even nothing seemed like something to her. He was everywhere.

She moaned in confusion.

“I'll take that as a yes”, he said and dived right onto the other nipple, giving it the same torturous treatment.

She opened her eyes but they rolled at the back of her head and this time stayed shut, betraying her valiant effort at regaining her sanity. And all the while that special nerve in her brain was vibrating, so very intensely that she began to feel like her head was heavier and would soon explode. Sensory sensitivity made the affair all the more pleasurable.

Time, who as previously mentioned, was no more to her. Sensation was all to be had.

The sucking of her breast became butterfly kisses all over her stomach within a couple of strong gasps. Butterfly kisses turned into the best belly massage she could have ever hoped for before she had the chance to utter the next curse word. His sensual massage somehow melted into playful licks and bites behind her knees, along her thighs, on the tender inner thigh muscle that curved into-.

Andrea jerked up on her elbows, eyes wide open, chest heaving from interrupted anticipation and a sudden surge of anxiety that she couldn't justify. Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she focused on the scene before her.

Loki's face... inches away from her wet and pulsating pussy. Her legs... spread, over his shoulders... His hands... fingers... splayed wide over her hipbones as if to... to keep her in place. His cheekbones rubbing between the flesh of her thighs. Oh, no.

“Darling? Are you alright?”, he asked then, his voice heavy and his breathing laboured just like hers.

“What are you... what are you doing?”, she squeaked.

He chuckled, making her shudder, “What does it look like I'm doing?”.

“You... you tell m-me”, she stuttered, feeling the same damn colour already painted on her cheeks. 

Loki heard something in her voice, carried in the tremors, further supported by how her skin reacted. It was almost as if he'd said he'd torture her while in truth, it was much the contrary he wished to do. 

“What is this about?”, he demanded, adding a bit more dominance to his voice than she was ready for. 

Andrea shook her head, her lower lip pouty and apologetic, “You... you can't...”. 

“What do you mean I can't, love? I can't taste my woman?”, he elaborated, something of madness gleaming in his irises. 

She shook her head no. 

“And why is that?”, he quipped, tightening his grip around her upraised hips. 

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, at least not the words she had to say. 

“It... it is... it's difficult for you... that way...”, was the best she could manage. 

Loki blinked in confusion, “Rest assured, you're positioned just how I like, little one”. 

He made to dive in again, eager and more impatient than ever to dip his tongue into her waters. But she whimpered no and twisted her hips, struggling to escape from his grasp. 

“Loki no, that's not what I meant”, Andrea pleaded, now on the verge of tears due to the pressure she was subjecting herself into. 

“What is it then?”, he said in a softer tone, thinking that if he approached the subject more gently she'd cooperate. 

She bit her lip, maniacally translating a million words from Greek to English in order to find a good one. 

“It's not... it's not fine. It's not... ready.”

His brows reached his hairline. He looked down at her spread, needy and swollen lips and grinned almost evilly, “Oh, I can promise you it is.”

Andrea took a deep breath in, trying to look away from him and expel the ridiculous thought that they were arguing about her pussy. She pondered she shouldn't have said anything at all but now it was too late to take anything back. His curiosity was peaked and a curious Loki would go to great lengths to get answers. 

“Just...”, she began again, changing the words to help him take the hint, “... just let me up for a bit. I'll go to the bathroom and... make it less... messy.”

His frown deepened to the point where he looked like an innocent, totally lost child. 

“Andrea, my love, I am so very sorry but I don't under-”, he stilled his tongue, his lips staying slightly open. 

Recognition glazed over his lustful eyes and then to her ultimate surprise, he laughed. 

Laughed wholeheartedly that is. There was nothing mocking or derisive to it, nothing to indicate that he was making fun of her, although that's how she felt. She lowered her head until her chin doubled and touched the beginnings of her chest, her lips quivering from the need to cry or to explain or to ask why he was laughing. 

As he quieted down, she felt him drop his forehead against her mound, nuzzling his face against the entirety of her womanhood like it was the commonest place to be. He still shook a little from the force of the laughter but he was really quiet. Slowly but steadily a light humming broke free from his mouth, a vibrating sound and was so tangible against her flesh as made her pussy lips tremble. 

She dragged her eyes to his face, reluctant but intrigued, not knowing what to expect. He was still rubbing his face against her, wetting his lips, his cheeks, his nose with the evidence of her desire like a predatory wolf basking and bathing in its prey's blood. 

It was with a languid difficulty that he detached himself to meet her eyes and when he did so, Andrea truly felt, deep down to the very foundations of her humanity, that she was undoubtedly prey. 

“How did you phrase it earlier this evening?”, he suddenly asked, his voice so low and inhuman to tantalize the senses, to violate the edges of imagination. 

Then he gasped upon remembrance and his face turned unforgivingly stern. Clearly, he was recollecting words that he hadn't liked. 

Tilting his head to the side, a wicked smile creeping slowly across his jaw, he recounted, “I must seem like a child to you...”. 

Andrea was momentarily confused and opened her mouth to ask but she was sharply cut off. 

“Well, I'm not”, he argued gingerly and without warning dragged her hips roughly towards him. 

She had not a moment to react. 

Loki placed his hands on her knees and used them as anchors to spread her legs wider which resulted in her calves crossing behind his neck, trapping him between strong bone and wet sex. This rapid change in position made poor Andrea lose her balance and flop back down on the soft quilts and pillows, her hips involuntarily jerking up towards his smug locked face where his tongue and teeth were bared, sharp and ready to feast. 

She was anticipating him to go all guns blazing on her, tear her up with those teeth so that her screams would echo in the dark room and beyond its relative privacy. But in contrast to his abrupt motions, the treatment that followed was as she had once imagined. Silk upon trembling skin and honey dripping from lips that moaned. 

He did nothing more, at least to her it seemed pretty simple than take her inner petals into his mouth, where, snug and safe as they were, he licked and increased the blood pressure through earth shuttering sucking. He didn't free them for seconds and seconds on end, during which Andrea's eyes were so tightly closed that tears squeezed out of the corners. She didn't scream, she didn't yell, didn't thrust her body asking for more. 

She yielded. 

Sucking her breath in, once, twice, loosening her grip on the furs, gathering her hands back to her body, slowly taking in the curves and bones of her form, tracing her breasts which she had been loathing for so long, she stretched her upper body and went limp, offering herself without inhibition. 

“Agh...”, was the only sound she made, a high pitched, small note that sounded like pain but in truth was not. 

Loki let her lips pop out of his mouth with a sloppy sound and caught them again, trapping them in his mouth to repeat the same process. 

More whimpering, more moaning. It wasn't enough for him. He wanted her a mess. A wreck, a woman unleashed.

He had been wrong about her taste. Always seeing the pure evidence of sweetness in her character behind all the intimidation she exhibited, behind the mask she always wore, he had somehow thought she'd taste like honey. Sweet, bold and rich with innocent delight. But as he sucked her in, laved his tongue up her slit and breathed her aroma, she tasted differently. She was salted caramel. The perfect combination of two sides of a spectrum which, when emulsified, tantalised the taste buds in a most punishing, perplexing and pleasurable way. 

Needless to say, he couldn't get enough. But he held back from wild abandon in favour of care and precision. He couldn't allow her first introduction to something so supreme and sacred as love making to be sullied by carelessness and sloppiness. These two features had their unique eroticism, of course, but they had no place in this moment, no part in his current plan.

While continuing to lick her slowly, as if a playful cat dipping its tongue into the cream bowl, he looked up and noticed that the poor woman didn't know what to do with her hands. Her brow, arched and tormented, betrayed confusion and bewilderment even though her body was completely relaxed for him. It became instantly obvious that this was a matter of sensitivity of the senses, of a feasible overload that led her into unknown paths from which she knew not the way back. She had never lost herself so much in a touch before, in his touch. Gods knew how she would react to the rougher pleasure he had in store.

All these being things he had to respect and work out, he willed his tongue to move even slower on her bare sex, settled for exchanging the treatment with small, feathery kisses and when her hands happened to be travelling down her stomach, he reached out and caught them in gentle grips and used them to pin her hips down. 

Instinctively, they intertwined fingers and held on to each other with a tender firmness that had the woman's heart reeling over the edge on its own. For this, as he had explained, wasn't only about the pleasure of the body but also, for the fullness of the heart and soul. And as his thumbs caressed the sides of her own, in that tender grip, and his tongue peeked out to torment her swollen lips once more, she realised that the first of the two objectives had already been accomplished. She found herself impatient for the second now, a small fire building itself at the pit of her belly. If people had houses squeezed between their organs and bones, hers were burning. 

She had fallen into a seething calmness that he enjoyed very much though it was time, according to his estimations, to jolt her out of it. With a sinful open-mouthed smile decorating his lips, he dragged the tip of his tongue upwards, where her precious jewel was glistening and pulsing, enlarged and greedy for attention. He began circling it meticulously without actually touching it. She shuddered, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh, and from her lips, a tiny moan erupted. 

“Ow...”, she tremulously purred and the more she did so the more rigorously his tongue worked, “I... I know now why... why they c-call you, ow, ow... silver tongue.”

The comment caused him to break character and chuckle so loudly against her as made her giggle too. At the moment, it was the most spontaneous reaction which under other circumstances would have been completely normal. Yet in this case, their trembling laughter only increased the heavy-lidded sensuality. 

“If you're still able to speak then I don't quite live up to my title.” 

With that said, he lurched forward and took her clit into his mouth, giving it a sharp nip before rolling it with his tongue, managing to hit all the little nerves hidden inside. 

She arched her spine almost painfully, a soundless, chocked scream penetrating the darkness of the room. The fire burning in the hearth seemed to intensify all sensation, the fire burning inside her on the verge of scorching her alive. She danced on the precipice to his heart's content, tightening her grip on his fingers so much that her knuckles went white and made no other sound. 

Some women say they see fireworks when it happens. Some others claim they tense so much as if they're electrocuted, spark to life and stay lit for a long time. Others see God or something along those religious lines. 

As for Andrea, she drowned. She fell, naked and scared, from an immense height into the womb of a dark ocean, where the silence ate all sound and where life was mostly lived even though she couldn't see it with her eyes. She descended deeper and deeper, lost her memory, lost her sense of self and became one with the water that embraced her. There was safety in this loss, she could understand as much, as she went under, her body jerking angrily because the pleasure did not stop with the fall. 

Loki pinned her down harder to keep her in place as he guided her through the first pinnacle into a second, his lips almost bruised and numb from sucking ceaselessly. She went under again, as expected, her petals trembling in elation, her pussy muscles contracting violently under his ministrations. Her thighs shuddered and quivered on either side of his neck. 

He adored the feeling of being squeezed in between, trapped in this fleshly grip like an indulgent slave, bent on his mistress will. It wasn't often that he enjoyed the feeling of such submission given the fact that his sexual depravities leaned towards the domineering side. But with Andrea... with Andrea, he felt safe in letting go.

There he stopped, considerate of the fact that she was exhausted and trembled from the sensory overload. He lapped her up gently, taking his time to properly taste her, allowing her to catch her breath and find the peace she needed. He kissed her pussy lips, silently showing how proud he was of her, how much he appreciated her trust and how grateful he was to have been tasked with her pleasure. It was all he ever wanted. 

A few more shakes and she went completely limp. The pressure of her fingers lightened and from the heaviness, he suddenly felt on his broad shoulders he quickly gathered that his little dancer had lost consciousness. He looked up to catch a glimpse of her and smirked at the sight. 

Body covered in oil and sweat. Rosy nipples still aroused on breasts that looked so soft and cosy. Cheeks flaming with the colour of the fire. A sated heart, beating slow and steady. Lush lips slightly parted to let out small breaths. A relaxed set of bushy brows that almost gave her countenance a childlike and filled with wonder expression. She was fast asleep.

With the utmost care he extricated himself from her legs and gently deposited them on the furry quilts. Hugging her hips lovingly, he pushed the pillow that held them up away and set her down. He dragged the towels, his having been long lost somewhere between furs and pillows, away from their bodies. With a wave of his fingers the fire eased to a softer crackle that would lull them both deeper into a restful slumber. 

He stretched beside her on his side, her taste still lingering in his mouth, so bold and leaving him thirsty for more. Gazing down at her sleeping form as he draped a blanket over them, he vowed he'd never seen beauty like hers. Her face so serene, her colours so bright, her delectable body so pliant and willing. 

“Fuck, woman...”, he whispered, only now coming to grips with just how much he... No. He couldn't say it. Not yet. 

Getting a little sleepy himself, he rolled her onto her side by the waist and snaking an arm underneath her neck, gathered her close to his chest. Even in her sleep, she snuggled against him, her weak hands seeking him out, identifying him. She sighed heavily, hummed softly and in some magical way, seemed to have recognised him.

Loki smiled and closed his eyes and just before sleep took him too, he wondered why he'd thought himself loveless for eternity. Love was not a concept he couldn't grasp. Love was not within people he had trusted but betrayed him. Love, which he could not yet admit out loud,  _was_ a human heart, baptized in blood, gone through pain and wired to an entire body, a body he now held. 

Love was simply her. 

 

 

 


	34. the bridge between the green and blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issues of sexuality and body image arise. Suspicious dreams are surely about to be explained. A dreadful experience from the past comes to light. Loki is prepared to do the unthinkable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. It's been so long since the last time I posted. Over a month it is, I believe. I am really sorry about the long delay. It shouldn't have taken me as long as it did but things got in the way, as per usual, and I had to tend to all the problems that happened to arise. It has been a crazy past few weeks. I am really exhausted mentally, what with trying to absorb my materials from uni like a proper sponge, so I could only devote a few lines each weekend to my beloved Andrea and Loki. The thing is, I really don't know what I was aiming for in this chapter. I just had a lot of stuff I wanted the couple to talk about so I mashed it all up and here is the result. I tried to make the transition from one subject to another as fluent and smooth as I could but I can't promise anything. As I said, my exhaustion affects my writing a lot. And really, I don't think I write with the same passion and dexterity as I did when I first started this story. I feel like my writing has started to become a little... pale? Metaphorically speaking. Anyway. There you have it. The couple talks about shit and Loki (that is of course in the next chapter) is getting ready to do something which no one ever thought him capable of. 
> 
> *As always, pictures are from the web, therefore their rights belong to their respective owners. They are pretty self-explanatory. And to give some proper reference, I think that the first picture is from Outlander. Yeah, it must be. I would recognise Sam Heughan's biceps from a million miles away... so yeah. At it boy. 
> 
> A little reminder: if you have pubes, they are lovely, and all bodies are beautiful and I love you all, you lovely people. Don't ever let anyone bring you down just because you prefer your naturality. I have had quite a tough time accepting myself so, for anyone who might be insecure about a certain body part, the first part of Andrea's and Loki's discussion is dedicated to you. Love yourselves, be yourselves. I was kind of sick and tired with the misconceptions social media keep putting out there about hair growth so that is another reason why I decided to address the issue. Obviously, if we were discussing this face to face I would be gentler in my approach, but Loki is Loki and Loki doesn't do gentle when he's pissed. 
> 
> I love you all, again. Thank you for your patience!!!

Their bodies lay peacefully upon the furs and the rags, limbs intertwined, hearts sated and full not only from the beautiful pleasure of proximity but from restful sleep too. The fire in the hearth tickled their senses with its bursting and crackling, its hissing lulling them back to nothingness though they resisted. There was a gentle howling air that made the wooden cabin creak and the creaks produced a rhythm so catatonic as made their eyelids droop. The window shutters were still closed, blocking whatever reality was taking place in the wider world. The lovers were sheltered away from it all, knowing only the existence of one another and deeming that knowledge enough.

He was on his back, the blanket he had covered their bodies with some hours ago, all twisted and bunched up over his thighs. He had one hand akimbo, nestled between the hot pillow and his neck, while the other was wrapped around his woman's shoulders. The muscle of it was big enough to give her some leverage and help her reach his chest, where her weary head was resting. His fingers flexed within the voluminousness of her short curls. He played with the locks leisurely, tangling and untangling them as if it was a boyish, self-soothing game he wished to excel in. His lethargic eyes were all the while locked on the ceiling, where he traced the intricate nerves of the wood. A faint smile decorated his lips that tasted of her desire, a delightful taste he wanted to savour eternally.

She lay beside him with her calf draped over his and her own fingers busying themselves with hair too though not with the silky mane that crowned and framed his head. As she listened, recorded, learned by heart the jumps and impossibly human shakes of his heartbeat, she was caressing the semi-dark path that led down to his manhood. She scratched and toyed with the trail just above the darker ones that decorated the emblem of his masculinity. A semi-erect and rather pink emblem of masculinity, to be precise. His navel was her weakness, she decided. As the hours passed he gave out little moans and purrs which set her heart on fire, fueling her mind with endless possibilities of pleasure. Upon hearing them, she would smile and inch a little closer to him, grinding her mound against his side. It seemed almost like a secret calling. A primal calling that her body could not resist obeying. 

Together they looked like a pair of forgotten and glorious entities of the mountains and lakes. Like a king and queen who had chosen solitude and togetherness, away from the hiss of the mob or the painful torments of society. Here they could be wild. Here they could be free, heavy with desire and bare without fearing judgement by people who did not understand their love.

“Say it”, Loki coaxed, his voice hinting the symptoms of drowsiness and hoarse arousal.

Andrea ceased caressing him and propped herself on her elbow, craning her neck upwards so that she could look at him. She nudged him with her pelvis in playful jest. 

“Say what?”.

“What you've been thinking for the past two hours. Since we woke up.”

“I haven't-”, she tried to avoid discovery but he cut her off with a warning glare.

“Don't lie. It shows brightly on your cheeks”, he cooed, a smiling sleepily. 

Instinctively, he loosened the grip on her hair and run his fingertips along a plump cheek noting its heat and colour.

She squinted at him, good and hard, for a long moment as if trying to stubbornly decipher the riddle by herself before surrendering to simply asking for the answer.

“Everything shows on my cheeks”, she quipped first. 

But, in the end, an exasperated sigh left her lips. She flopped back on his chest in defeat, rubbing her forehead on the muscle as if trying to warm his heart before speaking to him. He could be sharp and non-forgiving when his opinions were fixed and indestructible and she knew it.

“Fine”, she decided, “I just... I just don't... Are you sure you're okay with me keeping... you know... keeping-”.

“- your own body the way it is? Your own body the way nature made it? Your own body according to your own personal preference? Your own body as it was supposed to become with the coming of maturity?”, he filled in, “Feel free to pick whichever you like”.

He giggled a little which notified her that he wasn't mad which was good and more than she could have hoped for. But then the fire drowned his giggles and he sounded more serious than ever.

“Love, do you realise how ridiculous that sounds?”.

Andrea took a deep breath and released it as a heavier than heavy sigh, the tiniest hint of sadness in her breathy tone, “Maybe it sounds ridiculous to you but I've been living in a world dominated by stereotypes and... and... scorn and beautiful women with perfectly... waxed bodies, all baby smooth and... and-”.

“Men who believe that forcing their preference on women is called compromise and not plain boyish foolishness”, Loki mocked openly.

“Well... yeah”, she agreed, “A majority does think that way and the worst thing is... women, well some of them have started to think like that too and... I don't know. I have talked about it with a few friends, back in school and... I feel... alone in my decision... It's just a way of thinking, I presume.”

“Do _you_ think that way...”, he said gently, his brow quirking in concern.

Admittedly, it was impossible for him to understand the insecurity behind such a natural matter. Having never come across it before, he realised he was treading on uncertain ground. Women in Asgard had never busied themselves much with grooming and apart from the times when he had been in the company of exotic civilizations with equally exotic, waxed and oiled up bodies, he had never known until now that this was an actual issue in Midgard. It was as foreign to him as it was irrelevant and unimportant.

And yet, the little dancer presented it and argued about it as if it was a matter of great importance and for the life of him, he could not wrap his mind around the reason why. This made him feel reduced to a child. An ignorant child that was unfamiliar with the workings of the world. He exhaled audibly at the thought. 

And in his opinion, only children declared awe or even negative feelings about their bodies and whatever came out of them. Naturally, it is something new and awkward for the young boys who have yet to be educated on the female body and its marvellous workings. Understandably, hair is something that strikes them as odd when it finally grows, as well as their manhoods, grow and blossom, and yet they come to accept this feature. On second thought, do a lot more than just accepting it. Hell, in Asgard, young boys who grew to be young men were taught that hair, in whichever part of the body, signalled strength and virility and he had always felt lesser and so different when his hadn't grown out at the same time as the others'. Accordingly, hair on women was a sign of health and beauty. A sign of increased sexuality and fertility. It was as effective a tool of seduction as any other and they learned to love it and feel blessed when it finally made its appearance, from servant girls to royal princesses. 

During his time in Midgard he had discovered that much of the same happened there but, until now, no man or woman he had been with had shown any insecurity concerning hair or the lack of it thereof. A body was a body. Preference was preference and acceptance was acceptance. All looked beautiful to him. All bodies, female or male, were unique and, damn him, he knew how to take advantage of that uniqueness and offer pleasure beyond this world. Pleasure that borderlined insanity. But he did not care any more about others. He only cared about her. Her. The little dancer. The only woman who was worthy of him and he of her.

“Andrea explain it to me, please”, he pleaded with her, his mind suddenly hitting a wall.

“There's nothing to explain. It's just that... I don't get how you can be so cool about it. I'm not... sure if you're okay with it or pretending to be because of me. You can be honest, you know. If you don't like it, it's fine, I can get rid of it”, she said in a non chalant way, shrugging a shoulder then looking away.

Deciding that nothing else resembling an actual explanation would pass her lips, he shook his head dreamily and got up, assuming a sitting position upon the rags. Bringing a knee close to his stomach, he balanced his elbow on it and looked into the fire, both confused and enlighted. He knew what she meant and then he quite didn't.

 _How you can be so cool about it_. What did this mean?  What was there to be _cool_ about? Should he rave about it? Should he send her on her way to the bathroom to fix a problem that was simply not there? Perhaps there were... standards in Midgard. Trends, if you like, but he couldn't care less. If this was her preference... Yes, he knew there was the alternative of being completely bare. Yes, he had been with women,  many women, to be honest, who sported that fashion. Yes, it was nice, aesthetically pleasing to them, softer, more comfortable for some and he had nothing to say about it. Just as he had nothing to say about her own preference which was the opposite. Why should he say anything? Yes, he was dominant. She belonged to him, she always would but who was he to tell her how to keep herself?

If you are with someone you take the whole package, not just the bits that you fancy. Mother had taught him that and all his life he had stood by it faithfully. 

With this in mind, he motioned for her to stand up.

“Come here, love.”

Andrea scrambled on her knees to join him, eager to pick his brains and see what he had to say. Deep inside, she knew she was indirectly asking for affirmation but she would never admit that. Pride was her worst sin, even worse than anger for her anger she could not control, but her pride... Sometimes she just refused to control it. Out of spite.

When she tried to sit beside him, unaware and sleepy, he lunged forward and grabbed her thigh, spreading her wide open until she straddled his hips, chuckling with her excited squeals and nervous shrieks as she struggled with her balance. She supported herself with her palms on his chest and refrained from sitting down, for if she did, she would have to sit down on something really stiff and very hot and... Her mind was clouding with desire already.

One hand went to her waist where he dug his fingers in to hold her steady, his eyes twinkling dangerously. She was walking on the thin line between feeling scared and overly excited and she was right to be doing so, because then and there, without particular ceremony or care, Loki cupped her wet sex and nudged a couple of fingers along the length of her petals, though not inside.

It happened so fast that she was caught off guard and tried to stand up to escape the hand but he held her in place effortlessly, warning her with his intense eyes not to dare move an inch.

She was smiling her obedience deviously in less than a second, her pulse quickening, her chest heaving rhythmically as she expected his word. But he did not speak. She felt his hand, slick with her juices from her previous orgasm as well as the new floods of wetness, palming her slowly with the precision of aeons of experience. Pleasure started flowing through her veins, through her bloodstream, down her belly, down her spine as ever so gently his mount of venus rubbed directly against her clit.

He kept up the languidness for a few moaning moments which resulted in anticipation the likes of which Andrea had never experienced before. She could not tell if it felt good or if it was torture. Time would tell. He was watching her, she knew, even though her eyes were tightly shut. He was observing her meticulously through her efforts to grind harder against his hand but being unable to find anything but solid resistance and disciplined restraint. She knew he was probably grinning, behaving as if he was not actually giving pleasure but rather, as if he was trying to clean some stain off his hand by friction.

 _You_ _pervert_ , she cursed him in childish exasperation, whining as silently as she could. _You... you... aw_.

“Why do you keep them?”, he asked out of the blue, his voice calm and collected as if reciting a poem or reading out loud interrogation questions.

“Wha... what?”, she keened, her belly tightening with each wave of electricity.

“It is a simple question that requires a simple answer. Why do you keep hair between your legs?”, he repeated himself in the same tone.

With unadulterated smugness, he noticed how she had started to leak onto their joined laps. Salted caramel everywhere around them, tinting their heated skin. She would be close soon. She would finish. He could feel it from how she contracted.

When no reply reached his ears, he extracted his hand and left her there on the edge, a placid expression ruling all over his face. Andrea's eyes popped open at once and when they found their focus she sat there with her mouth hanging open, staring at him in disbelief.

“Why did you-”, she started to protest but he cut her off.

“Answer the question.”

“But it hurts!”, she whined, rutting her hips against nothingness.

And it was true. It did hurt in some odd way. It felt like an infected cut she could not scratch freely or, an annoying sensation of filling too full, too suddenly and being unable to do anything about it. It was both intoxicating and bloody difficult to withstand. With terror, she admitted to herself that she would rather have him slap her there to having him do absolutely nothing.

“I know it does. Answer me and I'll ease you back into it”, he claimed calmly, sucking her juice off his fingers, moaning a little just to keep her motivated.

“Fine, I...”, she tried to gather herself, balling her fists against his chest, “It means something to me. I like it there, okay? I like it. It makes me feel... woman. It makes me feel mature and beautiful and natural and like... like my body is complete. I... damn it...", the words were falling off her tongue in no particular order, her hips backing in need, "I know it's silly and that... just because I have hair that doesn't mean I'm the most beautiful woman but it... makes me... it makes me feel... Not a child. Once I shaved it all off and cried when I did it because... because I didn't like it. It might have been nice to feel so smooth when I was younger but it didn't feel nice when I... It doesn't feel nice to me anymore... I'm... I like feeling rough. Loki, please, please, please, it feels weird,  it hurts me pretty bad”, she concluded, her voice strained and her temple sweaty with perspiration.

“And you would give that up if I asked you to? You would give up feeling that power just to please me?”, he continued, deciding that she could go a bit longer without.

When in pain, whatever kind of pain, the truth naturally falls out of people like gravity. His mouth hung open in awe. He loved to watch her struggle and he loved her honesty. This could become their new way of intoxication now that he considered it. She looked divine in her misery.

“Yes”, she hissed, shutting her eyes tightly.

“Why?”.

“Because... maybe... maybe it would be easier for you to... for us to do things. Like what you did pre... previously...”, she confessed.

Without warning, he administered a sharp slap on her rear that sent her forward, an unexpectedly erotic gasp falling from her lips at the same time. In a way, she thought it was good for it distracted her from the itching between her legs. She felt only later the harsh sting of the act, as it reddened and started to itch too. She was trapped and doomed.

“Why the hell did you do that for?”. 

_Can you do it again?_

“First you create problems from nowhere and now you insult me. I feel betrayed”, he teased, “Did you see me having too much trouble sticking my tongue inside you, little dancer?”.

Andrea bit down on her lip harder than she intended, the obscenity of his words inciting new waves of torturous arousal. The small hairs along her spine stood up. She shivered and cursed under her breath, not recognising how wanton and lascivious she probably looked.

“No... I... didn't see...”, she didn't finish her sentence for just like that, his hand was back between her legs in search of little treasure.

“And I do remember vividly enough that you came all over my mouth”, he rasped quietly, nudging at her neck with his sharp jaw, “Gushed out so charmingly... I can still taste you...”.

She couldn't keep up with his words, couldn't focus enough on the language and the meaning even though she felt their dirty motivation surging within her, propelling her closer and closer to the little death she was chasing. She cared about the pleasure and the stars and thought about her taste staining his lips...

“Do you want to cum now, little one?”, he divulged, pure malice mixed with his own arousal dripping from his tongue.

“Yes! Please! Yes!”, she chocked out, attempting once more to grind down on his hand.

He required no further motivation thus, he pressed a finger directly on her clit, her abused little jewel, and rubbed with a tightly controlled force that had her bitting down on her lip until it numbed. With two more fingers, he spread her outer lips so that the pinkish nub was fully exposed to the friction and the resulting electrical charges. When this was accomplished and the manner of pressure changed Andrea gasped out loudly, her hands abandoning his chest to cling onto his neck. It was such a new sensation that she felt in need of refuge, in need of something to hold onto. Instinctively, she hugged him tightly and buried her face in his neck, drowning her silent cries at the crook. The last thing she felt before the waves of release washed through her, was his strong arm wrapping around her back, holding her crouched form close to him. It was his affectionate token of assistance, a warm embrace that kept her sane, a way of helping her go through the intensities her body experienced without crumbling down into a sobbing mess.

It was the sweetest thing he could do, Andrea mentally noted. Something that he did only for her. He cared. Even when he provided pleasure, he cared about the emotion behind it. Heartless, cruel and stern he might be described as, but nothing could fool her in this moment when he touched her so gently, the feel of it so incongruous to the ferocity of his rubbing between her legs, nothing could convince her of his character even more than the two different, balanced touches. He could be two sides of a spectrum at once and he cared. Whatever he did to her, he could pull her out of too.

“Shh... it's alright”, she heard him mutter into her ear, his hand no longer under her but on her back, rubbing her wetness into valleys of heated skin.

She hadn't realised how hard she was holding him until she noticed how white her knuckles had gone. 

“That was strong, wasn't it?”, he asked gently, nudging her again under the jaw.

She nodded in a daze and squirmed closer to him, the tiniest hint of a smile decorating her lips. She was feeling fuck drunk. But they hadn't even fucked... Suddenly the prospect of it boiled a new desire inside her and it was the least she could do to swallow and nod again to compose herself. If he caused her all that with only a single active finger, what could he do with that impressive... _thing_ between his legs?

Unsteadily, she drew her head back and rubbed her forehead against his. 

“During all that time you spent worrying about how I see you, you could have been coming another five times, little dancer”, he phrased eloquently, brushing her hair away from her face.

Her heavy-lidded eyes were twinkling in the warm glow of the fire, her brow a bit damp from the strain. Her rosy cheeks were hot and healthy and perfectly complemented the richness of her half-open mouth. He noticed the darkness in her weary eyes and the sultriness of her mouth and swore he had never seen a more mystifying creature than her.

“I was worried you wouldn't like me. I mean... I like myself but I'm not... by myself anymore”, she confessed in a hushed tone.

Loki's brow softened, his lips parting as if to say something. Silence managed to slip in between them, but at last, he shook his head in disbelief. “Why would I want to change you? Why alter you in any way? Why take away your confidence as a woman by forcing you into a different appearance? You are...”, he paused, sighing deeply.

He removed his arm from around her and flopped back down to the comfort of the pillows and quilts, resting his hands behind his neck. He looked up at her seductively as she was left straddling him, smiling as he raked his eyes over her nakedness. Over golden breasts and peaking rosebuds, sculpted stomach and soft belly, thighs as strong as a warrior's and hands full of veins and history.

His eyes settled on the dark bush between her legs, perfectly shaped in a curly triangle that disappeared under her, “You're divine to me.”

Her heart exploded at the praise, her lips curling deviously upwards. She raised a hand to her cheek as if to hide her renewed colour and scooted up his stomach, squeezing him wantonly between her inner thighs.

“You're divine. And thinking about changing you is sacrilegious, to say the least. Any changes would take away from your rough beauty, your wild abandon. What kind of man would I be if I did that?”.

The only thing she could do was nod with a deep shaky sigh, no longer so stuck in the image of her exterior but rather feeling more confident to sit comfortably and allow him a perfect view of herself in the lascivious position he had left her. She sat with her spine straightened and her chest puffed outwards, shoulders relaxed and gaze equal to a temptress'. Her hair fell on either side of her face in twisted strands of dark brown. She looked as though she could eat him up and he basked under the scrutiny.

“Do we see eye to eye on this? Or do you need further...”, he squinted at her messed up sex, dripping all over his stomach. His brows twisted questioningly, “... instruction?”.

She chuckled delightedly at the innuendo and hid her shy eyes in her palms, almost like a little girl who tries to block out all things uncomfortable. He smiled brightly at her, wrinkles creasing at the corners of his eyes.

Watching him watch her back through her fingers, she felt like the most special piece of treasure in the world. Maybe she was too vain in thinking so but there was no mistaking the adoration, the worship in his stare. He was grateful to be straddled by her. Pinned down by little human her, whom he blatantly thought a proper goddess. Soon, all shyness evaporated and a deep curiosity seized her.

“What do Asgardian women do?”, she asked on a whim, catching him off guard. 

“Excuse me?”.

“Asgardian women. Are they all natural like me, do they do something special? I don't know, are they born hairless?”, she explained chirpily, not really interested in the subject.

Loki gulped, wondering if this was one of the maleficent traps women usually lay for men, “Women... Asgardian women didn't really care, Andrea. They... dod as they please and the men follow.”

For some reason that struck her as odd. She had always had in mind that Asgard was a realm ruled by fierce men in some sort of medieval context and that perhaps women would be a bit more... restricted. It was stereotypical and she knew it but nevertheless, this new perspective sounded strange.

“Really?”.

“Yes, my love. For the most part and as far as I can remember, men didn't care either. The taboo, if you'd prefer, simply does not exist”, he informed slowly, his eyes still intent between her legs.

She bit her lip curiously, “That is so cool.”

He chuckled at the plainness of her language though he knew that she genuinely meant it.

“My mother, Frigga, raised me to accept people as they are, not as I want them to be. She educated me in the ways of women, she taught me about the strength, the pain and the sacrifices you often make. While the other princes and royal children learned to fight and draw as much blood as possible, I learned diplomacy, arts, deception and the truth about what makes us the way we are, body and soul. I was raised oblivious to the fact that, perhaps, in other realms, hair growth is an issue and thus, is there really any such issue if we don't know about it? No one ever told me, therefore, does it really exist?”.

She nodded negatively, agreeing.

“Do you want to hear something even more scandalous?”.

Then she nodded excitedly and upon her confirmation, he lurched forward and grabbed her waist, his mouth attacking her ear at the same time. He bit at the lobe sharply, eliciting a wild giggle from her and the most delectable writhing he could have hoped for.

“When mother caught a whiff of my... erotic adventures with each and every maid in the palace, not to mention with a handful of married women, she hired concubines for me that specialised in the ways of flesh. All ways...”, and after a slow lick up the slope of her neck, he added, “... and all types of flesh.”

Andrea gasped out loud and held onto his neck tightly, her eyes meeting his in a feverish hurricane, “Your... mum... your mum did that for you?”

He shrugged dismissively, “Well, it was the best decision if I'm being honest. She saw her child possessing a rare talent. It was only natural that she would want me to make proper use of it. Especially, when one day, I would grow into actual manhood.”

“How old were you?”, she croaked, her fascination on the subject reaching a dangerous peak.

“Fourteen in human years.”

Her eyes widened like an owl's, “What?! You started having sex at...”.

He nodded without any hint of surprise.

“Brilliant. And I'm almost twenty and still haven't-”.

“All in due time, little one”, he reassured, raising a finger to her lips in a shushing way.

His eyes turned stern, for he didn't want her to be thinking like this, “You needn't worry yourself about that. I assure you that when the time comes, you will be ready and  _I._ ..”, he leaned closer to reach her neck in search of a tender, heated vein, “... will take special care of you. But until then, we can enjoy ourselves in other ways and I think I have already establish a couple.”

She giggled into his ear, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck like a little kitten. He was right, of course, as he always was. There was no reason to rush. No reason to follow any standards. No reason to get anxious about something that he would have completely under his impeccable control.

“You know...”, she began, keen on changing the subject to something a little more steamy that would hopefully raise mischievious butterflies in her stomach, _how she longed for the feeling_ , “... I dreamt of you touching me like this even before I came to live with you...”. 

His ears perked up at the sound of that. Slyness replaced the pure joy ingrained in his features but the position of his head, tucked under the little dancer's beautifully angled jaw, gave him the advantage of hiding. Somehow he had forgotten about his little game. The mischief.  _The dream_ .

“Dreamt? Is that so?”, he purred, his eyebrow raised in an attempt to maintain his illusion of innocence, “Please, go on.”

“Nooo...”, Andrea whined petulantly, already regretting telling the truth, “I can't... I'm too embarrassed and too hot and too... satisfied...”.

He basked at her hesitance, thinking himself back to the moment he'd weaved the scenes together. He was sitting upright on his bed with a book that had suddenly appeared to be excruciatingly boring when the idea struck him.

“Andrea...”, he warned, his voice hinting forthcoming scolding, “... I'm a firm believer that when you start something you have to finish it. Go on and tell me. What did you see?”.

She sighed in exasperation, “Fine, okay. It's just... you were... I was... anyway.”

After this short and terrible introduction, she retracted her arms from around his neck and squeezed them between their united chests, consequently drawing him a bit away from her. She snuggled up against him, like a little girl waiting for her bedtime story ducked under all the fluffy pillows of the world, and allowed herself a moment to be consoled by the mere warmth of his body. In response to the changing of position, Loki slid his hands from her waist to her rosy buttocks and cupped them protectively, scooping her up, cuddling her against him in silent earnest. The closer, the better.

“I was in a forest if I remember well and it was, like, very magical and everything sparkled and... even though in dreams we are not supposed to be fully aware of our surroundings, I kind of was of mine. I don't know how though. It was all crystal clear and defined and it was as if I could feel... everything happening. Almost as if... as if it wasn't just a dream...”.

_That's because it wasn't_ , Loki thought slyly,  _It was partly an illusion_ . He kept it to himself though and allowed her to continue uninterrupted. 

“I was lying on a large bed, naked, and the sheets under me were so soft and smooth, like silk and I was feeling very nice and drowsy like I'm feeling right now. But the... then I... I noticed I couldn't move at all...”.

“Were you bound?”, he asked gently, still not hinting anything.

“Maybe but... I couldn't see the binds. I just couldn't move...”.

“Were you in any specific position?”.

Andrea blushed hard as she recalled, “Yes... yes I was...”.

“Describe it for me...”, his grin was becoming outrageously wide.

She inhaled deeply, “My... my hands were on either side of my head and my legs... my legs were slightly... parted, my knees bent and I... I was feeling... like I said, everything all at once and I wanted to leave... and then I didn't, but the exposure... Oh, anyway...”.

Loki turned towards her ear, his lips ghosting over the shell, evoking shivers down her spine.

“Was I there?”.

She hummed, “Yeah...”.

“What was I doing?”.

This time she moaned, forgetting for a moment all about shyness and modesty, “You were... you were... touching me and... opening me further and... I can't... I can't describe it...”, she faltered, her breaths becoming more and more laborious.

Loki saw the opportunity and grasped it, determining that there was no point in keeping it a secret anymore. In all fairness, it wasn't as if she would hold anything against him.

“Where was I touching you?”.

She hesitated, “E... everywhere... my... my breasts and my thighs and my tummy... between, you know...”.

His cock grew harder at the image she was conjuring, all hot and pink and ready for any kind of stimulation, which, of course, he would refuse himself.

“Was I pleasuring you then?”.

“Yes...”, she gasped, her nerve endings fired up by some kind of shame that harboured eroticism and playfulness likewise.

“With rose petals in my mouth?”.

“Yes... ye-.”

Andrea was on the brink of losing it, on the verge of starting to rock her dripping sex against him, asking for more attention, more of that delicious pleasure. And then, she slowly stopped, recognition dawning over her.

She squinted her glazy eyes and pressing her lips together, used the strength of her arms to shove him away from her. He was, of course, caught off guard by the sudden playful violence and while in normal circumstances he wouldn't have even moved an eyelash, now he fell back on the pillows with a distinctive hiss slipping from his lips.

His head shot up to look at her in sheer bewilderment and something between lust and hate that Andrea could not identify. But she herself was on a warpath of desire and most of all, divine justice.

She bent her waist leisurely, like a panther preparing to pounce wildly, and with a sardonic smile on her lips, crawled up his marble body. As she went she gathered both of his hands in her own, wherein he posed no resistance, and once she reached his eye level, she drew them up and pinned them down hard, above his head.

He wasn't entirely sure why he was allowing her to do this for Loki had never let himself be topped so freely, nor was he one to submit immediately. And yet, deep in his heart, he knew that he was safe with her and despite his dominant nature he gave way to doubt and welcomed his delightful defeat.

His chest was stretched and open, ready for devouring. His lower body stiff and rock hard from the strain of holding back. But once he allowed himself to surrender, it all went away. With the next exhale, he melted into the pillows and quilts and felt the weight of her thighs, the pressure on his wrists and her breath upon the blue veins of his neck all too intensely.

It was an odd emotion, to give up like this, but he caught himself enjoying it. With her.

A sudden pain in his ear jerked him out of his daze.

“I knew it was you”, she rasped, rolling his lobe between her teeth, “I had no proof, no evidence but when I woke up that morning I just knew it!”

A devilish chuckle escaped him that was cut short by another playful bite. She wasn't mad, he realised. She was aroused in the extreme.  _Again._ Just how he liked her. 

“Did you not like it, darling?”, he challenged, his voice smoky and thick with need.

“Oh, I loved it”, Andrea admitted earnestly.

“Did you touch yourself?”.

The question boiled the insides of her belly and produced a shivery warmth between her legs that she could not hide. After all, she was wide open and straddling his body. But it was a peculiar kind of warmth. A kind that attracted her to something equally warm, further down, between his legs. She wanted to explore. She yearned to experience but she was so unsure.

“Yes.”

The deep vibration of his purr echoed through the walls of her mind.

“Were you thinking of me?”.

“Obviously”, she snorted.

“How many times did you come for me?”, he pushed her.

She shook her head negatively, refusing to answer the question.

“Tell me”, he insisted.

“Three, maybe four, I don't remember. It was intense”, she whispered with burning cheeks, which only sported a far deeper colour when he gasped triumphantly. “In a row”, she added then, his reaction the same.

“You're marvellous. Do you know that?”.

She couldn't conceal the surge of energy within her or the way it manifested itself in the broad smile that stretched across her mouth. Her luscious lips bloomed, opened up to gift him with nought but joy at the sound of such sweet words, voiced with such gruff, with such rasp.

She straightened her spine slowly, abandoning the tight grip she had on his wrists and dragging her hands over the foam white expanse of his muscled chest. All this she executed with the languidness of an exotic dancer, giving him the rare gift of watching her as she unfurled herself, vertebrae by vertebrae. His eyes followed the sticky dripping of her sex, which, dark coloured and quite abused from constant attention, she rocked and ground against him still. The tendrils of sweat, born out of her pores, and rolling down her exhausted thighs were shining silver, a beautiful incongruity to the gold of her complexion.

He was mesmerised each time he took a closer look at her features specifically. He awed at the strength contained in the muscles of her stomach. He marvelled at her bare sex. He was fascinated by the peaky buds poking out of her small breasts and he was close to a maddening rage when she stared him through heavy-lidded eyes, which under their hood, sheltered pupils as wide as dark holes in space.

“Talk to me...”, he breathed out, his hands still on either side of his head, where she'd left them, “... Talk to me. I want to hear you...”.

Andrea blinked curiously at the request, her lips parting obediently to comply at the same time. He wanted a piece of her mind. He wanted to be witness to what was taking place inside. He wanted the knowledge she hid from him. And that meant more, even more than his approval of her grooming choices. Somehow, it was an acceptance more precise, more difficult, more uncommon in the age she'd been born in.

She licked her lips, “What about the other dream then?”.

A dark shadow of confusion infiltrated his features, “What other dream?”.

“The dream I had when I fell asleep in the tub. Remember? After the wine?”.

“If you dreamt anything then, I can't claim responsibility. It wasn't me, little one, I swear.”

“Ow...”, she contemplated with a quirk of her brow, “I was really sure it was you...”.

He chuckled at her, his head craning back on the pillows, sinking deeper into the softness and simultaneously forcing his Adam's apple into a langorious, stretch which, when she noticed it, made her mouth water.

In between cheerful vibrations, he inquired, “Do you perhaps want to tell me about it?”.

At the suggestion, no matter how joyfully phrased, crippling anxiety crawled its way up her spine. She slouched a little, relaxing in the assumption that her lover would probably think she was plain tired. However, the truth was a bit more complicated than that.

“Sure... ehm... In short, I was floating on a dark blue sea but I can't be sure if it was a sea, to be honest. Everything was blurred. I felt very cold though. Very cold and lonely. Once more I was naked and even that... even that sort of... vulnerability felt lonely as well. I was scared because I had thoughts of sea monsters swimming under me and such but then...”, there she paused, scratched her stomach and shrugged, a tiny grin on her lips, “Then you rose from the sea, emerged from the depths of it, cold and naked and wet like me and you used me as your anchor to come ashore. Once you were up, everything turned into ice. Frigid cold ice. I was becoming numb from the impact but you lifted me off the ground and I was warm again. You... you... took me in your arms and when I looked down... what was it? I think it was daisies... Yeah, daisies began to fall around us, on the snow. It was so beautiful and...”.

He listened to her narration with undivided attention, little explosions taking place inside his mind. Pale colours and cold ice and flowers, all mashed together, formed the perfect abstract picture. Ice he could relate to. He knew its shape for he had formed it with his hands many a time. He knew how to master it with the magic of savage ancestry which run through his veins like a curse he could not be rid off. He was not affected by the temperature. No, ice was, in fact, his natural temperature, which he only subverted by using Andrea's warmth, like a snake that crawls under the rocks to seek shelter. A little enhancement spell and there he was, warm and welcome, ready to wrap her in his arms without freezing her to death.

His lips parted to let out a shaky breath once she reached the part of his salvation, a part that was foregrounded by the one and only fact the despite it being a dream, he had been saved by her quite literally. As beautifully, viscerally as she described, she had pulled him up from the darkness into the light of a new reality and thus had rescued him from the monsters, his own self included. It was so literal that he almost doubted it as having been a dream.

He exhaled deeply and felt his stomach bump against her fiery wet petals which bloomed and smelled of fresh aroused blood. He closed his eyes and an orchid, purple-crimson in colour and classy in shape, opened her thin petals in spring and sighed at him. 

“And then... What else did you see?”, he whispered, his eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.

“Then...”, she wiggled her bum, soaking him anew, her hands drawing irregular patterns at the centre of his chest, “... then you did something that... something that I really liked.”

He hummed in contentment, already preoccupied with thoughts that he was about to very much like this part. He opened his eyes and sat up on his elbows, his neck bent so that he could stare, and stare into the green fires of her eyes.

“And what was that, my love?”.

She did not know if it was natural to feel so shy still. After all, he had already performed that which she was attempting to express and, heavens, had he performed it invaluably great... She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled and did not keep his gaze for much longer.

The incalescence of her sex was distinct and tangible, tasteable and definitely noticeable by both of them, but she did not budge. She stood her ground, perched on top of him like a fierce deity.

A shaky hand came up to caress the underside of one unusually heavy, now that she was weighing it a bit, breast, “You... your mouth was on my... you know, you were... you were doing what you did before to my... but in the dream it wasn't... it wasn't too... pleasurable, it... it stung. But I liked it and...”.

She left that sentence unfinished, her cloudy mind preventing her from using the exact words for the thing. Moreover, it didn't help in the least when she tried to seek some protection in his eyes, for protection was the very last thing they granted.

Having grasped the meaning of her mumblings, his eyes had changed from the kind, lethargic and drowsy green to a heart-stopping black. Her breath hitched in her throat, though inaudibly, as she inspected him apprehensively. His jaw slackened, his lids seemed to open and close in slow motion. The air was suddenly heavier than before. The wood in the fire crackled louder. The heat was intolerable. The nudge between her legs threatening and her skin too exposed.

It was a swift change that lasted only a few seconds but it was enough to make her cower and look away in dreadful acknowledgement. Lust, the little dancer, could identify in the eyes of men. All men, no matter where they came from or who they had fucked moments ago. She used to see a lot of it back in her days at the sex club. She had seen it the first night she'd let her bralette fall to the wooden floor. She had seen it in their eyes, how they craved and turned into animals, as the light from the projectors illuminated her breasts. But lust in the eyes of her God, in the eyes of Loki, took on an entirely different form.

Lost in that thought, she did not see him change back into kindness and leisurely weariness. She didn't see his brows furrow in concern nor did she feel him sit up completely. She was only interested in securing her breasts out of sight.

She was staring into the fire when she lifted her hands to her chest, trembling knuckles brushing lightly against her taut buds. They did not remain there long, for as soon as she had covered herself, he caught her wrists in a gentle demanding grip and forced them down by her sides.

A shiver cascaded along her back, cold sweat sprang out of her forehead. Her eyes were frantic and confused when they met his, and for a moment, she swore her heart broke. He was looking at her guiltily, as a schoolboy would look at his mother after having broken her favourite set of plates. His eyes were stricken by the need to understand, his brows stern and unyielding. Only his mouth was relaxed, pink lips, the colour of iced rose petals, parted to reveal a row of white teeth, teeth she had laboriously traced with her tongue...

His voice was raspy as if he hadn't used his chords for a long time, but it was nonetheless clear in her ears.

“You keep doing that. Why?”.

Andrea shook her head.

“Andrea, please”, his brows drew up in a triangle, “You know I have eyes.”

“Rather sharp ones, I'd say”, she complimented, but it came out as a snort.

The atmosphere had changed too rapidly for her taste as had the tone of his voice. The playfulness was gone. Now he meant business and needed answers.

With a faint quiver ploughing her jaw, she tried to lessen the burden of the confession, “It... it's just... by instinct... It doesn't mean anything.”

“You contradict yourself. Instinct means everything. It's the basis of behaviour. You keep hiding from me. Why?”, he insisted, his eyes boring into hers, anxious thumbs going over her soft wrists, “You weren't a moment ago.”

“I know... it's not... it's not because of you. It's just... I lied...”, she sighed, her withering stare causing him to swallow hard.

“Lied about what?”.

“About...”, her eyes fell to the tiny crack of space between them, “... about being completely... untouched.”

Surprise sliced through his features, his eyes going wide and then squinting, refocusing on her face. He tried to maintain his cool, but in truth, his mind was raging with the worst ideas, encountered only in nightmares or... in the lives of women like her. Forced so young to do things they did not want to. 

“Andrea, what do you mean by this?”.

“It's not a big deal”, she shook her head.

“It is for me, little one. If it makes you cower away from me in nought but a flash of a second, it must mean something.”

She chewed on her lower lip, “If I tell you... if I tell you maybe you won't see me the same way...”.

“Nonsense, little one. Nothing you say can make me not... not care for you. If anything it will only make me more protective.”

She swallowed thickly, regretting her quick choice already. 

“Well... I... I was interviewed for my job, back at the club. I had expected it cause I knew it was... well, a special kind of job. But I had also expected to just dance, as part of the interview. Perform something so that I could prove I had skill, you know?”.

He nodded compassionately and moved his hands from her wrists to the back of her neck and her waist. Her nipples scraped against his skin as she breathed, creating the perfect brooding tempo for the awful confession.

“McDarmond didn't ask me to dance, Loki”, she said, lifting her chin in courageous indignation, “He shoved me into his office, told me how things worked in his establishment, told me what I was to be paid and then... then he told me to undress, to see if I was anything worth his trouble. He said he didn't really care how I danced. The customers didn't really care about it either. The... the goods were elsewhere...”, a tear slipped from her eye even before the lump in her throat began to form.

Loki's grip tightened, his mouth hardening in a line of rage. There was a waterfall of words he wanted to spill out but she was not over yet. 

“... But the advert online didn't say anything about stripping, it... it just said dancing. I thought... what could be wrong with that? Anyway, I was shocked. I had never been asked to do something like that before but he kept urging me on and I couldn't react and, say I'm stupid for not bolting out the door, but I... I needed the money... I couldn't support myself, I just... I just had to do something and no one else would take me. So I... I did it... I took off my clothes. _All of my clothes._.. And then I stood there, like a fool and waited for him to do... whatever he was supposed to do and...”, she exhaled deeply, more tears rolling down her cheeks.

The fire in the hearth had become nauseating. 

“I can't... can we open a window, please? I can't...”, she mumbled pushing his hands away unceremoniously.

She scrambled to get up and eventually, he let her. His face fell once she went away, drawing close to the window by the bed. She yanked it open and once the chilly night air hit her face and blew through her hair, she took a deep breath and lowered her head to her weary palms.

For the first time, she had an indication of what hour of the day it was. It was a pitch black night. The air was refreshing as it disturbed the waters of the mythical lake. No hint of snow anywhere, nothing to be seen, regardless of what the forecasts had said. It was more like chilly autumn rather than a heavy winter. And yet, when they had first arrived, it had been snowing gently. Who knew? Maybe the fire of their love, barely contained inside the cabin, had melted everything.

“I can't tell you... I just can't... what was going on in my head. It was so fucked up, the whole thing. But I was desperate so... I had to bend a few rules”, she continued in a considerably lower tone, “He was circling me, he was looking at me like I was nothing but meat for the dogs he welcomed into the business. Do you know how that feels like? It feels like you're an object. No kinky stuff though, just an object. A moneymaker. And he didn't care how I felt about it. He slapped here and there, he groped me, he pinched, he sneered. He wasn't particularly satisfied with my upper section, what with it being small and... well... not too much to look at... He kept measuring me, weighing me as if I was an item in some antique shop. Of course, now I know that he did it not only to satisfy his clients but also to check if he could sell me anywhere for a copper or two”, she chuckled derisively, running her fingers through her hair.

At each disgusting word, Loki flinched in anger. His nostrils flaring but his eyes... more understanding than ever. The fresh air was of no use to him. 

“He wanted a full on naked dancing performance each night despite it though. I froze, I bloody froze. I couldn't do something like that. It was too much. I'm so young... I don't know... men. I bargained with him as best as I could and we settled on... he would allow me partial clothing, I would only have to show my... But he would pay me less than the other girls and every time one of the waitresses wasn't able to come in I would fill in for her and take scraps from the tips...”, she concluded, “I'm... I'm hiding because I can still... I can still feel his eyes on me. He's gone, I know but that feeling of him touching me like that... He was crude and... and it shouldn't have been like that... I'm sorry if you thought it was about you. It's not, my... my beautiful... beautiful king...”, she sighed and turned around in defeat.

“It's no-”, but as she was attempting to assure him again of his innocence, she bumped onto his rock hard chest with a surprised hitch of the breath at the base of her throat.

She hadn't heard him approach, so light his footsteps had been, and now out of the blue she was crowded by his silently seething presence, so close to her. Her front was hot as the fires of hell, both his body and his even breathing, which landed rhythmically over her face, contributing to the scorching sensation. Her back was cold and numb from the icy air of Inverness.

His face was struck by a devastating mixture of pain and anger but he looked beautiful in the dim darkness of the night nevertheless. For a minute Andrea wished that the moon would shine down on him and fire up the silver and the blue that hid underneath his skin, woven into his veins, magically encrypted in the spirals of his genetic code. But the moon was nowhere to be seen tonight. It was shielded by thick clouds that hid its beauty.

The smell of humid grass reached her nostrils and the air stung a lot more as it hit her back. It would rain soon.

Loki broke the silence first.

“Why did you not tell me of this?”.

She shook her head and sniffed back a few stubborn tears, “I don't know. I just... I just didn't want to upset you... I didn't want you to be upset with me...”.

A hand was raised to her cheek. He cupped it and smoothed the tears into the pores, watching her gravely, “Upset with you? Why would I be upset with you? You have done nothing wrong. You were an innocent in need and that man...”, he paused and looked away from her, the fire in his chest reflecting now in his tone, “... that man took advantage. He something precious from you. He took a lot more than I had thought.”

“But that's just it, Loki. He didn't take it. I stupidly gave it because I couldn't sum up the damn courage to step away”, she protested, her voice rising towards the end.

His head snapped back to her direction, the menace still there. He squinted, “You are really in for driving me insane on top of all my anger, aren't you? How can you even think it was your fault?”.

“Well, of course, it is”, she admitted, delivering a weak punch on his chest, “And... and if I was smart enough I wouldn't have sacrificed- I wouldn't have given away my morals, but I did and it... it shames me. Because each time you look at me I can see it clearly, I can see that lust and... I want it! All of it”, she declared, almost in angry fear that he would somehow misunderstand, “But my mind goes back to him and what he wanted and... and you... I wish I had met you first.”

His face fell, the rage drained from his features in a breathless instant. Like the reclamation of land lost by the force of water.

“If I had met you first I would know the difference between a man who wants to take from me and a man who loves me”, she concluded sternly, her lips set in a straight line, her cheeks aflame with shame.

He lowered his head, fixing his stare at the wood and their feet, his, large, hers, smaller and delicate. He let his hand slip from her cheek, down her neck. Her strong shoulder was tense when he traced it with his fingers, so he lowered his hand to softer areas. The journey of his touch led down to a promiment clavicle and his hand fell, with apt gentleness, down to her breast. She didn't move away from him, so he shielded it behind his hand and listened, listened to how her heart threatened to rip its way through her chest and fall at his feet.

 _A man who loves me_... He was ashamed to look at her after that phrase. Ashamed because he himself was not completely sure what love actually felt like. He knew hatred in the extreme. He felt it for the man who had touched her so brazenly, without care, without consideration that he was touching a young adult, freshly elevated  into the ranks of independent life. He knew fear quite well too. It was all he had felt in the Void, under Thano's cruel hand and his accomplishes' torture. He knew pain and he certainly knew pleasure. But love?

Maybe _this_ was love? The courage of a young, untried soul to admit her confusion, her inexperience, her trepidation and seek a way to fight it. Love could be a battle then, but not like all the others he had fought. Maybe love was the battle against hatred and fear and pain and pleasure. And this one, he did not know how to win. But he would try, to his death, he would try, because love was also _her_ and she was his world. She had said it so bravely. _A man who loves me..._ She wasn't assuming, she wasn't daring, she wasn't throwing a meaningless word out there to see if it would take root. She was downright declaring it because she knew. Because his affection for her, his attention, his words, his actions were love in her eyes. She knew. Therefore, in a way, he knew too.

Andrea saw him fall on his knees in front of her stiff body, felt his hand being dragged along her stomach and belly to finally settle on the inside of one thigh. His back was crouched, his head lowered in quiet consideration and the black strands of his glossy mane covered his pale face completely.

She opened her mouth many times, but closed it again, not knowing what to say. She sensed movement from his hand thus her eyes drifted down her body. He was stroking her thigh with his thumb, leisurely gathering the mass of skin in his palm, squeezing and then letting go. Goosebumps crawled all over her from the affection of the act, so incongruous to the rage he had previously felt. Now he just seemed... sad.

“Loki...”, she called, but the only response was his back muscles flexing, twitching.

“Loki... I'm sorry”, she said, fresh tears springing in her eyes.

Her mind went back to that night, after Thor's departure when she had rocked against him, trying to soothe him down. Him... who from a man of steely will, a King, had been reduced to a quivering child. Now crouched and tired as he was, he looked just like that again and the thought that she had caused it, made her sweat in terror.

“Loki. I... I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so drama-”.

“Shh”, he replied softly, shaking his head, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips, “You did nothing wrong... And I will die before I stop reminding you...”.

His words confused her and shocked her to her core. Her stomach turned at the thought of death, his death and the dreadful hands of fear clawed angrily at her sensitive skin.

“No... don't talk like that...”, she mewled, her jaw quivering harder.

At her request, he looked up at her with longing burning in his irises. She looked down at him with pain and guilt in hers.

“Little dancer...”, he breathed, an exhausted grin evident on his lips, “... my love, listen to me.”

She nodded and tried to fall on her knees too, but his grip on her thigh tightened and held her in place. She stood still and waited.

“If you cannot trust, if you cannot understand what you see in my eyes then, I ask you to trust my touch. Because the way I touch you, my love, will always, always indicate what is taking place inside of me. I don't do well with sentiment, I realise this about myself, but I know that perhaps, in the long run, my actions will speak for my character”, he began, his voice smooth, but thick with emotion.

He inched closer to her, dragging his knees over the wooden floor, scraping the flesh with delight. He took her by the hips, bringing her pelvis

close to his face and once the distance had been covered, placed a soft kiss on the curls of her mound.

Without detaching his lips, he whispered against her, as if he was trying to push the meaning of his words into her womb, “I know now why the insecurity and why the pain so perhaps my words mean nothing to you. I am the God of Lies, after all. And for a creature like you, battered and bruised by life and its traitorous twists and turns, much more severe, graver measures must be taken.”

Andrea frowned curiously, not understanding, but feeling her heart about to explode. This felt like a goodbye. 

“Thus, in the case when even my touch cannot secure your trust, what I'm about to do, will.”

He kissed her mound again, this time his kiss lingering for so long that he thought his lungs would collapse, and let her go.

Andrea's mouth opened in protest and agony but she was cut off by a strange language she had heard before. This time the words were softer, like a lover's whispering and the stresses smoothly rolled off his tongue.

A sharp wind blew outside that made the shutters rattle angrily causing the fire to go out in the hearth and lake water to shudder. It was cold and violent and as it hit her, she whined in fear and wrapped her arms around her.

She made to move towards his kneeling form, but a luminous light stopped her. She froze, dead in her tracks and turned around slowly only to be blinded by the white divinity of a moon that was no longer shielded by clouds. Somehow, the orb seemed to have rolled closer to earth.

She turned back towards Loki, awestruck and equally scared by the supernatural aura of things. She moved closer, stepping away from the large window. The moonlight filtered above her shoulders, slid through, between her legs and illuminated his form serenely.

He was Godlike at that moment, just like she had imagined him. The light kissed his closed eyelids and caressed his chest, turning him into another entity. She was gaping at him, taking in the details of his face.

Her brows furrowed when she spotted strange marking on his face, carved underneath his flesh with a pale bluish tint to them. She could almost miss them for they blended perfectly with his white skin. The crescent moons on his forehead were the most visible carvings of all and gave off an air of savageness.

Something green glimmered in his hand, yet only too late did she realise it was a knife.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember!! Comments and kudos on my work are always appreciated and most wanted!!! Do not hesitate in leaving one! I will be more than happy to reply!   
> Here is a link to a picture that comes really close to what I had in my mind when I was describing the interior of the men's club, where Andrea is working : https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/35/e6/ff/35e6ff989bb344710999c91dbd1bc286.jpg
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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